


a bit of a fixer-upper

by communikate



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, House Flippers, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Rated M for a hot make out and some heavy petting, Rivals to Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:00:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28445811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/communikate/pseuds/communikate
Summary: Keith was determined to stake his livelihood on the chance to start his own interior design business. Nothing would deter him from flipping the perfect project: one side of a duplex on the edge of town.Not Shiro appearing back in town after three years of almost zero contact.Not Shiro working on the other half of the duplex.Not even the traitorous feelings that seem to have never faded.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Minor or Background Relationship(s), past Adam/Shiro (Voltron) - Relationship
Comments: 26
Kudos: 78
Collections: Sheithmark 2021





	a bit of a fixer-upper

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is loosely based on the Hallmark movie “Flip that Romance.” It was super super cute, and I totally recommend watching it for all of those Hallmark feels! I also watched so so so many hours of house flipping shows as “research” for writing this fic! haha 
> 
> The title is from the song of the same name from "Frozen!"
> 
> I want to give a shout out to Chel (@starryskeyes) for being an amazing beta and making me feel so much more confident about this piece before I share it with all of you! I hope you enjoy! o(≧▽≦)o

Keith couldn’t stop the buzz in his fingertips as he parked his bike and walked into Town Hall. Every auction day filled him with jittery excitement; however, today’s held a little more trepidation than anything else.

His phone buzzed in his hand as a text from Acxa appeared on the lockscreen.

Acxa (9:55AM):  
_Remember to stay within budget this time, Keith!_  
_As Lotor says, let your last flip pay for the next_

Scoffing under his breath, Keith started typing a response only to be interrupted by walking into the warm chest of the person standing before him. He stumbled backwards, losing his balance — only to be caught by the forearms with two, familiar hands. One palm was hot and sure while the other pinched a little too tightly and gave no slack against its metal fastenings.

Keith’s breath caught in his throat before he glanced up.

Before him, haloed in the fluorescent lights of Town Hall, Shiro grinned.

It had been three years since Keith had last seen him, and yet nothing about him was unfamiliar. There was the gentle curve of his smile and the sharp cut of his jaw. The tuff of his forelock dangled across his broad brows and into his steel grey eyes. The only thing that had changed was that the silver, once contained to the front of his hair, had commandeered all of his locks, and somehow he looked even more devastating for it.

“Keith,” Shiro’s voice was a warm timbre that rumbled in his chest, and Keith swore he could feel it vibrate through his grip. “Glad I caught you,” he chuckled slightly, setting Keith upright. With the careful brush of his hands, Shiro dusting off the sleeves of Keith’s leather jacket like he was afraid his hasty grab had wrinkled the fabric.

The bad joke stunned Keith out of his stupor. “Shiro,” he hated how weak his voice was, how threadbare and stunned it sounded, “I thought you were in Portland.”

“The weather wasn’t good for my joints,” Shiro joked as he scratched at the back of his neck.

It was a motion that Keith was so familiar with, another thing that hadn’t changed in three years. Keith wished he could stop cataloging all of the differences and similarities — like he was hoping to pin the missing years down in the minute details of Shiro’s demeanor.

Keith shoved his hands and phone into his pockets and rolled back on his heels. “You’re not that old.”

“I’m 32, Keith. I’m practically a senior citizen.” Shiro’s laugh was still boyish, a charm about him that has had all of the townspeople wrapped around his finger since he was sixteen.

“Oh, yeah? Then why are you here, Grandpa?” Keith almost wished that he could fight the easy camaraderie between them. Wished that it wasn’t like riding a bike, a muscle memory that he hadn’t forgotten and couldn’t ever forget.

Shiro nodded his head towards the open door behind him, lined with chairs and a small podium at the front. “I’m here for the auction. Is that why you’re here too?”

“You’re working in the area again?” Keith couldn’t fight the shock that loosened his joints and threatened to weaken his knees.

“Yeah, I’m back for good. I’m taking over Jiji’s shop.” There was a tightness to Shiro’s smile that Keith wanted to investigate, but his mind was too busy tumbling down a rabbit hole of endless possibilities.

Keith couldn’t hold in the panicked edge to his voice, “Is your grandfather okay?”

“Yes, he’s fine.” Shiro reached his hands out like he was ready to comfort Keith and place that familiar palm on his shoulder. But he stopped himself before they could bridge this gap between them. He dropped his hands back to his sides. “Just getting old, I guess.”

“The same for both of you then,” Keith joked and watched the way a hot flush decorated Shiro’s high cheekbones. Clearing his throat, Keith motioned towards the open doors and ushered Shiro in first. “Well, after you.”

An auctioneer took down their information and handed them both a paddle with their designated bidder number embossed on it. With a dismissive smile, she directed them to take their seats.

“Is there anything you’re looking for specifically?” Shiro asked as he crossed his ankle over his knee, looking like the picture of elegance — while Keith couldn’t keep his heels from bouncing or his fingers from tapping against the cool plastic of his paddle. 

Without taking his eyes off the auctioneer’s block, Keith leaned his head to the side and began, “Yeah, I was actually hoping to—”

“Welcome! Welcome!” A man with bright orange hair and a brilliant smile stepped forward and behind the raised podium at the front of the room. “It is a pleasure to have so many familiar faces today. As some of you may know, I’m Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, and I’ll be leading the auction here this morning. Now, please feel free to bid as high as you wish,” he laughed and looked around the room for cracked smiles and soft chuckles. “To start today off, we’ll begin with this empty lot on the edge of town.”

Coran began explaining the property as he pointed to a large screen on his left. As he spoke, an auctioneer clicked through a presentation with pictures of the listing and other notable specifications.

Even though Keith wasn’t hoping to bid on an empty lot — not much purpose in trying to flip a house that didn’t exist — he couldn’t seem to relax. He was poised on the edge of his seat while biting his nails to the quick.

Finally after twenty minutes of sitting through other lots and successful bidders, it finally appeared on the screen: the duplex Keith had been eying for weeks.

It looked more dilapidated on the powerpoint presentation than it had when Keith drove by just a couple days ago. It’s roof was half covered with a blue tarp, and the steps leading up to the split porch were so weathered and rotted that Keith was afraid that his foot would sink right through. The siding was a mess of peeling and sun-bleached paint. But otherwise, it was a dream.

And it was soon to be Keith’s dream.

Glancing to the side, Keith gave Shiro a tense smile as he held tight to the paddle with his bidding number.

“Ah, Lot 65, the left side of a duplex on Upper Mountain Road. The right side was already purchased, so only the left side is up for bid today.” Coran motioned to the screen, and his golden cufflink glimmered under the lights. “The bidding starts at 80 thousand, sight unseen. Who will give me 80?”

Keith glanced around the room, gauging the other bidders as they were looking at their phones or focused on the screen ahead. Before he could raise his paddle and put in the starting bid, Coran pointed towards him in the crowd and said, “We’ve got 80. Can I get 85?”

Turning to look to his left, Keith watched as Shiro slowly lowered his paddle with a debonair smile on his lips.

“You’re bidding on the duplex?” Keith heard himself whisper as another bidder took the 85 thousand dollar bid. Behind the rush of blood in Keith’s ears, Coran drummed up tension for 90 thousand dollars.

“Yeah, I’m excited to —” Shiro cut himself off as his gaze lingered on Keith’s affronted and slack-jawed expression. “Were you hoping to get the lot, Keith?”

With the curl of his lip, he snarled, “Yeah. It’s the best deal for a flip since that house three years ago.” Without taking his gaze off Shiro, Keith raised his paddle and took the next bid. “And I don’t plan to give it up easily.”

“We’ve got 105.” Coran and the other auctioneers pointed at Keith in confirmation or his bid. “Have we got 110? 110?” Coran’s voice raised in pitch, excitement bleeding into every corner of his speech and saturating the air of the room.

Shiro’s face shifted from shocked — his lips curled up in the corner and his eyebrows lowered, gazing at Keith from under sooty lashes — to intrigued. And it seemed that that was another thing Keith could add to the list of “Things that Hadn’t Changed About Shiro”: he was still competitive as hell.

Coran was looking around the room, standing on the tips of his toes as tendrils of his slicked back hair tumbled loose.

“One hundred and thirty thousand,” Shiro’s voice was strong, cutting through the muted hum of the room. His paddle was barely raised above the heads of the people in front of him. He was leaning with his legs still crossed and one arm slung over the back of the chair beside him.

Keith quickly thumbed through the texts with Acxa, even though he knew that $127,000 was his absolute max. He knew it was. He knew that he shouldn’t go over or else he would be at risk of breaking even when eventually selling the duplex.

But the look on Shiro’s face — the casual confidence — the _cockiness_ of a man that thought he could just waltz back into town after he’d just left them all three years ago — the audacity to act like he could start again like the last years were nothing — the devil-may-care attitude that he normally only wore when he was certain he had won or was aching for actual competition — drove Keith past the point of reason.

And Keith couldn’t help but fall back into Shiro’s orbit, be drawn in by that cocky smile and hope to be the one that sparked that challenge.

“One thirty going twice.” Coran was leaning over the podium in a way that threatened to topple him and the wooden structure to the floor. “Going —”

“One thirty two,” Keith called out, raising his paddle up in the air and refusing to turn to gaze at Shiro.

The other auctioneers around the room called out at the sign of his paddle, and Coran started again to drum up attention for the left side of the duplex.

Without taking his eyes off the auctioneer at the center of the room, Keith could feel Shiro shift beside him and press into his space. “Congratulations, Keith,” he said just before Coran slammed his gavel on the podium and declared the duplex sold to Keith for $5,000 dollars over his budget. “You really out bid me there.” There was a boyish nature to Shiro’s summertime smile.

With a mischievous and victorious grin, Keith turned to Shiro with a comeback poised on the tip of his tongue.

But before he could speak, Shiro said, “I’m excited to be working with you again.” He extended his prosthesis for Keith to shake.

“What?” Keith exhaled, shaking his head slightly as if he had heard Shiro wrong.

Shiro tilted his head to the side, smile tightening a little. His extended hand dropped a little between them before pulling back and scratching at his neck. “I’ll be nice to work with you, even if we’re not technically in the same house. Unless, you don’t want to. I can keep—”

“What are you talking about?” Keith cut him off as his voice tightened, pitch higher and throat burning.

A slight flush colored Shiro’s cheeks, making the pearlescent gleam of the scar that bisected his nose all that more prominent. “Oh, I thought you knew, and that’s why you wanted to buy the other half of the duplex. I guess I misunderstood —”

“Knew what?” Keith heard how biting his tone was, a feral snapping of his jaws. But he couldn’t stop himself. Couldn’t stop the bared teeth or the snarl to his lips.

“That I already bought the right side. Well, technically by Jiji did as a way to persuade me to come home —”

“We’re both working on the duplex?” Keith exhaled, interrupting Shiro for the third time in the span of a minute.

The world around him seemed to shift in color — overly saturated like a sun flare across a photograph. Vivid and brilliant to the point of pain, to the point of illusions and daydreams and fantasy. To the extent that Keith felt himself stumble backward as if daring Shiro to catch him again.

How had this town changed in so little time? 

Once upon a time, this tiny town had been everything to them, a jumping off place to the rest of the world — and then in so little time, it became a shrine to things past, a way to remember and a way to hold them all dear. And now, it was like a living relic, haunted by the reanimated spirit of all of Keith’s fondest memories.

“Yeah,” Shiro’s smile was still tight, the nervousness holding his shoulders taut and jaw sharper than normal, “I, uh, I —” he seemed to catch himself, clearing his throat before he continued, “— I’m really looking forward to it. It’ll just be like the Sugarhill house all over again. Hopefully it’ll end a little better though.”

It was like a lightning strike through Keith’s body — that familiar name on Shiro’s lips, the easy joking tone, the disregard for _everything_ that happened there. The snarl of his lips pulled back into something animalistic.

Keith was ready to tear through this thin veneer of friendship — to thrust their fragile and broken relationship into the light so that everyone could see the weathered cracks.

But he took a breath and caught the tension that still lingered in Shiro’s jaw. Beyond the lightness and beneath the saccharine sweetness of Shiro’s voice, Keith could see the hardened edge, the very way the project had shaped them.

Nothing had been easy for them three years ago. Especially not the ending of their first flip together. 

“Better than Sugarhill for sure,” Keith’s tone was tight, a darkness hidden behind that same artificial sweetener. He watched Shiro’s shoulders forcibly relax at the sound of it. “I look forward to working with you too.”

Keith held out his hand for Shiro to shake.

All tension leaked out of Shiro’s body like a train engine letting off steam. He deflated and his smile shone as bright as it had when he first noticed Keith at the entrance to the auction. Clasping their hands, Shiro gave him that smile that could get them out of or into anything.

“So, I’ll see you Monday morning?”

“Bright and early.” Keith smiled and hoped this would have a better aftermath than Sugarhill and those three subsequent years he spent alone.

『•••✎•••』

“Wait, what?” Lotor choked on his sip of wine, setting down his glass and pressing a napkin to his lips. “Shiro is back in town, _and_ he’s working on the other half of the duplex?”

Keith sunk a little deeper into the couch, folding his arms and avoiding Lotor’s gaze. “Yeah.”

“If that’s not ironic, then I don’t know what is,” Lotor chuckled, a dark mocking kind of thing that made Keith kick out his stockinged foot. His cousin merely batted it away before Keith could attempt to push him off the couch.

Acxa strolled in from the kitchen with a freshly opened bottle of wine. Half of her hair was pinned back on one side, and the circles under her eyes appeared darker than they had this morning. “Technically that’s not irony —”

“It’s romantic! That’s what it is,” Ezor cheered from the plush armchair that was much too small for both her and her girlfriend, Zethrid, to fit on. Zethrid took up the entire space herself, broad shoulders and thick thighs squeezed into the crushed velvet fabric, while Ezor had draped herself across Zethrid’s lap. Twining a finger through the longer strands of her girlfriend’s hair, Ezor continued, “I think it’s sweet that he stopped bidding when he realized how much you wanted the property.”

“That’s not true, he said —” Keith cut himself off with a groan and a generous sip of alcohol.

Acxa placed the wine bottle down on the coffee table with more force than necessary. Cheese knives skittered across the cutting boards and cracker crumbs fell to the white carpet. “Is that why you went over by five thousand?”

Keith turned to glare at Ezor, but she stuck her tongue out in response. “Yeah.”

“Well, you’re not going to get the tub installation like you wanted.” Acxa rolled her eyes and flopped onto the ottoman by Lotor’s feet. Crossing her arms over her bent knees, she continued, “You’re going to have to go for a standing shower instead. And you’ll probably have to cut back on the —”

“It’s not my fault he was there,” Keith grumbled, interrupting Acxa’s tirade of all of the problems he had acquired by going over budget. Curling his knees into his chest, Keith propped his chin attop. “He just waltzed in like it was nothing. Treated the three years he’s been gone like it was nothing to him, when it was —” _everything to me_ , Keith didn’t say as he buried his face in his knees and groaned. “I mean, I still live here! My family makes handmade furniture for the entire town. I’m finally taking the first risk of my career, and he’s back! It’s like — it’s like —”

“A curse?” Zethrid suggested, propping her head on Ezor’s shoulder so she could see past the frame of her girlfriend.

“Bad luck?” Ezor chimed in.

“Coincidence?” Acxa added in monotone.

“The fated potential for romance?” Lotor teased as he sat up and reached across the couch. His hand was warm when it settled on Keith’s head, slowly soothing him as it brushed through the wild strands of his hair.

Keith turned his chin up to meet Lotor’s gaze. Tendrils of his cousin’s starlit hair had tumbled from the messy bun at the nape of his neck. They drifted across his grey eyes and almost obscured his encouraging smile.

“It’s not like that between us. Never has been, and definitely will never be, especially after Sugarhill.” Keith’s lips curled into something halfway between a pout and a scowl.

“But it could be,” Lotor suggested, a tease of a threadbare possibility that Keith couldn’t hope to entertain.

There had been a time, back on Sugarhill, when Keith thought that maybe — hoped and prayed and longed that maybe — there might be a chance at something more between them. More than the childhood friends that had done everything together: between getting caught red-handed with the ATVs they had “borrowed” from Regris or starting the now annual, high school fundraiser.

Then, after Shiro had finished college and Keith had worked at his parent’s shop for two years, they had started flipping the property on Sugarhill Road. Shiro had taken Keith under his wing and shown him the possibility of turning something that no one believed in into something everyone desired.

And Keith wanted it to be like that after Sugarhill. Wanted it to be some huge monument to them, the perfect culmination of their design two styles.

But everything had gone wrong, and Shiro had left.

Now, after three years, he was back.

Keith sighed and pulled out from under Lotor’s hand. With a groan, he said, “What’s more likely is he’s going to outsell my side of the duplex, and I’m going to have to go back to the store with nothing.”

There was a tense moment of silence between the group. Keith knew they weren’t the type for false comfort, but it just made it all the more comforting when they believed in him. The silence now was ringing with energy, and when Keith glanced up, he saw darkening expressions of determination on all of their faces.

“I wonder if Allura will be staging the house for him,” Lotor murmured under his breath.

“I bet Pidge is helping plain the budget and monitor the construction.” Acxa noted, popping a grape off the charcuterie tray into her mouth. “She’s been doing it for Mr. Shirogane for years, so she’ll probably be helping Shiro out too.”

Zethrid wrapped her arms around Ezor’s waist. “Hunk’s definitely going to be heading construction.”

“And Lance is going to be landscaping, that’s for sure,” Ezor finished Zethrid’s thought.

Keith flopped back against the arm of the couch. “Maybe I should just sell the other half of the duplex to Shiro. He wanted it anyway.”

“Why don’t you think you could do better?” Lotor asked, an offended edge to his tone. “You do have all of us on your team. And as you just said, Shiro’s just come back to this town while you’ve been prepping for this job for months. Maybe it’s time to show him everything he’s missed out on these past three years.”

A mischievous edge curled on each of his friends’ smiles, and Keith couldn’t help but chuckle.

Because, wasn’t Lotor right?

It wasn’t like Keith had been doing nothing these past three years. He’d been working on all different jobs for Mr. Shirogane’s interior design company while expanding the services his own family business was providing. He knew how to flip a house, and he was going to fucking prove it — to his family, to the town, and most of all, to Shiro.

“Yeah,” Keith sat up straight, meeting the eyes of everyone he had brought on for this job. They were his dear friends, a group he had always felt estranged from as a child, but they swept him up when Shiro had left three years ago. And since then, they had proven their loyalty time and time again. “I guess we’ll just have to see who’s side of the duplex sells for more.”

“We certainly shall.” Lotor raised his wine glass for a cheer that felt more like a war cry.

『•••✎•••』

As the sun turned the edges of the night sky to the deepest purple and brilliant red of dawn, Keith roared down the road on his motorcycle.

From the curb, the duplex looked even worse than the pictures from the auction. A tarp covered a large portion of Shiro’s section of the roof, but it was evident that the whole thing needed to be reshingled. Keith’s side of the small front yard was overgrown with ivy that dangled from the tree limbs, threatening to suffocate it and kill it within years.

He parked his bike and shoved his helmet into the storage compartment beneath the seat. Pulling his handkerchief down around his neck, Keith whistled as he made his way up the pathway.

The concrete walkway was a tripping hazard; weeds had grown out of each crack and encompassed more than half of it. At the bottom of the stairs, Keith realized that they were in worse shape than his cursory glance the other day. He could practically smell the rot in the air from the saturated steps. The railing that divided both sides of the duplex was practically in pieces, listing so far towards Keith’s side that it was almost impossible to walk up the stairs. He was also afraid that he would just sink right through the weakened wood with his first step.

Thankfully, the deck seemed in decent condition due to the sealant and porch overhang protecting the wood from water damage. It wrapped all the way around the house with railings that were in better shape than the one on the stairs but would all probably have to be replaced. The overhang also looked weathered and would probably need some securing in order for the inspector to approve the house for market.

But staring at the peeling paint on the front door, Keith couldn’t help but smile.

This was his first project on his own, and he couldn’t have been more excited.

Before he could even put his key into the lock, a familiar voice called out. “Keith! Good morning.” Shiro was jogging down the uneven pathway with two coffees in hand.

“Morning,” Keith breathed like the sight of Shiro hadn’t just knocked the wind out of him.

Shiro looked beautiful in the fluorescence of city hall, but in the breaking dawn, he was radiant. He was wearing a sherpa-lined jacket even though it was in the mid-fifties. The buttons were undone and a red scarf dangled loosely between the lapels of his jacket. His jeans were tight, almost sinful, as he bounded up the stairs.

Keith’s mouth went dry, and he was thankful that Shiro was continuing the conversation in his steed.

“I was hoping you’d be here soon,” Shiro said in a rush as he handed Keith a cup of coffee across the waist-high divider on the patio. “For you. Hazelnut latte with soy.”

Keith hesitated before reaching out for the coffee.

“You remembered,” Keith mumbled under his breath, taking the coffee from Shiro’s hand with trembling fingers. It was warm beneath the leather of his gloves, a familiar weight in his palms. “Thanks.”

Shiro gave him a soft smile, shaking his head so that the fluff of hair swung out of his eyes. “Anytime! Have you seen inside yet?” He nodded towards the door and the keys dangling from Keith’s fingers.

“Not yet. I’m hoping for no surprises.”

Shiro leaned against the dividing wall as if testing its strength while casually listing closer to Keith. “Well, let me know if you need any help.”

Keith rolled his eyes and settled his weight on one hip. Twirling the keys around his fingers, he asked, “Are you sure you want to help me? We are kind of rivals, you know?” There was a lightness to his tone that didn’t hide the edge of competition in his voice.

“Rivals?” Shiro laughed, brandishing his trademark handsome smile. “I don’t think I would call us that.”

“Oh, are you so certain that my side of the duplex will outsell yours?” Keith baited as he remembered the determination that settled in his team’s eyes. Keith was the one trying to establish a business here. Shiro was helping his grandfather, who had been working in the town for over forty years and had a loyal customer base.

Shiro’s gaze darkened as a sharpness curled in the edges of his smile. “I never said that.”

“True, but I’ll probably have the advantage when I go to market before you.” Keith hid his smile behind the lip of coffee Shiro had given him.

“When are you hoping to have it finished by?” Shiro asked casually, but by the narrowing of his eyes and the slight tilt to his head, Keith could tell it was anything but casual.

Keith thought back to Acxa’s plan and well-calculated budget. “Three months probably.”

“Oh,” was all Shiro said, before he picked himself off the dividing wall and pulled the duplex’s keys out of his pocket.

“Oh?” Keith prompted. He placed his coffee down on the divider while leaning closer to Shiro, mimicking his stance from just a few seconds ago. “That’s all you're going to say?”

“No, it’s just —” Shiro cut himself off as the door swung open under his touch. “Well, I probably shouldn’t say.” There was a playfulness to his voice and posture that Keith was familiar with. It was the kind of playfulness that got them caught painting mustaches on the crooked lawyer’s billboard just a mile outside of town.

Keith reached out and caught hold of Shiro’s red scarf. With a light tug, he pulled Shiro out of the threshold and back onto the porch. “Don’t give me that crap, Shirogane. I know you too well for that to work. Stop baiting me and tell me when you plan to be done construction.”

“We were planning on starting today,” Shiro glanced towards the street as the familiar Shirogane Interior Design van pulled up to the curb, “so I would say eight weeks until we hit the market.”

“Eight weeks?” His mouth was suddenly dry as he thought of firm reprimanding Acxa would give him if he said what was already rolling off his tongue, “I guess we’ll plan for opening houses on the same day then.”

Shiro’s gaze turned hot, made of tempered steel and molten metal. His flesh fingers settled over Keith’s and gently pulled his grip off the scarf. “I’ll see you then,” Shiro said softly, warm with the firm, familiar edge of competition.

Keith stared up in Shiro’s eyes, lost in the torrential storm of grey that he almost didn’t hear the car door slam or the measured steps down the pathway.

“Keith? Keith Kogane, is that you?” a familiar voice asked from the bottom of the stairs.

Tearing his gaze from Shiro, Keith turned to see Mr. Shirogane. He was slightly hunched with a wane smile on his face and his hands held behind his back. One of the pockets of his sweater vest was torn at the seam and hung awkwardly off the front. He looked every bit his 78 years. He stood poised at the bottom of the steps with one foot about to sink through the rotted wood. “Watch out, Mr. Shirogane.” Keith yanked his hand out of Shiro’s grip and reached toward the old man, only to be waved off.

“I’m not that old yet,” he chuckled, a thing that rattled around in his chest, “but I am too old to be running a business.” He grabbed a hold of Shiro’s arm and shook him slightly. “Thankfully, I have a reliable grandson.”

“Yes, Jiji,” Shiro huffed, looking so much like his high school self next to his grandfather, even though he stood at least a head taller.

“Are you both working together again?” Mr. Shirogane turned to look at both of them with a wry smile to his lips.

Shiro’s lips parted but only a breath wheezed on in response. Keith couldn’t help but chuckle as he sipped at his coffee. “Actually, Shiro just challenged me to see who can flip their side of the house better.”

“Takashi,” his grandfather admonished.

“No, I — I didn’t do — I brought him coffee.” Shiro pointed to the coffee in Keith’s hands like it was evidence to support his argument against the competition.

Keith couldn’t help but laugh, head tipped back and sides aching.

It was like all of these years since high school had disappeared, and Mr. Shirogane was asking them why they were stumbling through the doors at three in the morning — their arms wrapped around each other for balance and the stench of alcohol soaked into their clothes. Shiro had stuttered through so many explanations, which had made Keith, bubbly with booze, laugh until he cried.

With anyone else, Shiro was composed and convincing, even when lying through his teeth. But his grandfather could read him like an open book.

“Good luck with the renovations, and if you need anything I’m right next door,” Keith said, echoing Shiro’s earlier words. He raised his coffee in goodbye before opening the door and stepping into the home for the first time.

Keith inhaled deeply and smelled the scent of stale air, but nothing that denoted settled mold. The entrance was tight with the staircase leading to the second floor starting not four feet from the door. Next to the steps was a long hallway that led down to the living and dining room.

Abutting the lack of a foyer was the entrance to a small room, possibly an office. Beside it sat a half-bath. Further down the hallway was another doorway to the kitchen — small, galley-style with a horrid yellow paint on the cabinets. The countertops were all sheet laminate and the edges were peeling up and stained with water damage. A small cut out was made over the sink to look out into the living room area.

At the end of the hallway, Keith stepped into the living room to see a single wooden door leading to the back end of the porch. Settled on the wall behind the stairs was a fireplace lined with crumbling brick and a mantle that was hung unevenly.

The floors were all carpeted in a stained off-white shade, while the downstairs bathroom and kitchen were lined in a cheap, 70’s mock-tile linoleum.

But thankfully, the foundation seemed solid. The home didn’t seem to slope or slide, but it was evident that central heating and air would need to be completely redone. It definitely hadn’t been touched since the house was built in the 60’s.

On the second floor, there was a single master bedroom that overlooked the street with a large master bathroom. There was enough space to do a separate standing tub like he had been hoping when he’d seen the old plains from City Hall, but he wasn’t sure if his budget would have the room for it.

It was even possible that the windows would need replacing, or at least recaulking to provide proper protection from the elements.

The stained carpeting and linoleum continued through the upstairs. Beige walls also seemed to be the theme of the house.

But it was perfect.

It was the perfect flip.

There didn’t seem to be any evident surprises, but he wouldn’t know about the plumbing or the electrical until Zethrid got into the walls.

Stripping off his jacket, Keith set out to get started.

『•••✎•••』

“So you’ll submit those permits to the city by the end of the day?” Keith asked between harsh breaths.

Acxa hummed in response, ignoring his grunts and strained sounds.

“And when will Zethrid arrive with the dumpster?”

“Three, so try not to destroy the place before she can even get a look at it.” Acxa reprimanded, but Keith merely huffed in reply.

“Thanks, Acxa. See you tomorrow.” Before she could confirm, he ended the call and got back to tearing up all of the carpeting. Just because the rest of his team and other contractors hadn’t come yet, didn’t mean Keith couldn’t get started — possibly shave a little off the budget and schedule if need be.

『•••✎•••』

Demolition was a slow process. Constantly having to stop and start again to ensure that they were tearing down the right sections of the house. Keith couldn’t wait to get a sledgehammer into the wall that divided the kitchen and the living room.

Tipping his head back, he guzzled the last of his water so quickly that streams carved down his chin and soaked the collar of his t-shirt.

“Knock knock,” Shiro’s voice called from the front door.

Leaning to gaze out into the hallway, Keith smiled at the disheveled sight of Shiro peering through his door. And he cursed the sudden spark of joy that ignited his ribs like kindling. He hated how it was such a natural reaction to be drawn into Shiro’s orbit.

“Hey,” Keith coughed, clearing water from his throat and dragging his forearm against his lips.

“Wow, you’ve really gotten started,” Shiro whistled at the sight as he walked the length of the hallway and ended at the living room area.

The single wooden door on the back end of the porch had already been thrown in the dumpster, and one of Zethrid’s girls had been widening the door frame to fit two french doors for added light. All of the carpet had been torn up, and the mantle was carefully removed and settled in the corner of the room. The fireplace had needed new brick so half of it was chipped off, and a fine layer of dust had settled on most of the room.

Meanwhile, Keith had been busy tearing down the wall between the living room and kitchen.

“Going for an open floor plan?” Shiro asked while knocking on the remaining two-by-fours in the wall.

“Yeah,” Keith grunted, propping his sledgehammer up against the wall and wiping away his sweat with the back of his hand. “I’m going for more cabinets and a kitchen island instead. Still debating on whether to make the kitchen door into an archway or to open the whole wall and add lower cabinets.”

Shiro hummed, tapping his chin in thought. “Might depend on your construction costs, but I would go with just removing the wall. If you’re doing the open floor plan, might as well go for it.” His smile was wide and genuine, and it was the first time that Keith had really looked at him since he’d walked in.

Sweat had dampened the armpits and back of Shiro’s white t-shirt, making it cling to his skin and outline all of his muscles.

“What’re you doing?” Keith coughed into his hand, forcing his gaze up to meet Shiro’s eyes.

“I’m actually —”

“Wait, wait! Let me guess.” Keith waved his hands to cut Shiro off. He couldn’t fight his smile as he said, “A breakfast bar with the upper half of this wall removed.”

Shiro’s smile was sheepish as he scratched at the back of his neck. “You got me there.”

Keith tipped his head back and laughed, enjoying the sensation of helium filling his lungs and making him lighter than air. There was something so magnetic about Shiro that Keith had become addicted to, and even after all these years, he wasn’t immune to it.

Before he could say anything else, a familiar voice called out his name, “Shiro?”

“Oh, that’s gotta be Allura.” Shiro pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time. “It was nice to see you, Keith. Stop by any time. I’d love to give you a tour of the winning side of the duplex.” With a smirk and a wink, Shiro gave a small wave before heading down the hallway and out the door.

Keith's response caught in his throat, only echoing when the door had firmly shut behind Shiro. “Bye,” he whispered.

It took him a moment out of Shiro’s presence to remember the newfound weight of every interaction between them, the weight of Sugarhill and the three years that passed between them.

Gritting his teeth, Keith picked up the sledgehammer and enjoyed smashing through the remaining two-by-fours.

『•••✎•••』

After that, Keith swore that the universe was forcing them to interact. He saw Shiro around every corner. He was outside on the porch picking up a shipment or taking a phone call every time Keith had to leave.

And of course, Shiro would give him that devastating smile and a small wave. It was a strangely sheepish thing, so different from the Takashi Shirogane that was valedictorian of their small high school, the boy who set off to accomplish something and make a name for himself.

It was also different from how they used to act with each other; the familiarity was still there, but it was buried beneath the awkwardness of unfinished business and their time apart.

However with each interaction, Keith felt his coldness melt with each passing day — until he was actually looking forward to seeing Shiro. Looking forward to coincidentally having lunch at the same time and sitting on the porch together. Looking forward to morning coffee and meaningless small talk.

But no matter how nice Shiro was being now, Keith was determined to win this competition at any cost.

『•••✎•••』

A soft knock sounded at the front door, and Keith almost didn’t hear it over the music playing through the old boombox radio Regris had forgotten to bring back to the workshop.

“Come in,” Keith called around the plastic pinched between his lips. He was bent over the countertop in the kitchen. His hands and clothes speckled with grout while tiles were scattered all around him.

“Keith?” Shiro’s voice echoed down the hallway.

“In the kitchen.” He barely noticed the sound of Shiro’s footsteps as he smeared mortar on the back of the tile and settled it beside the others above the new sink. Pulling the plastic spacers from his mouth, he pressed them between the tiles to make sure they had the proper distance for grouting tomorrow.

Keith reached for the next tile and popped a couple more spacers between his lips. Using the notched trowel he smeared mortar on the next tile and pressed it into the pattern.

“It’s three in the morning, Keith,” Shiro’s tone was soft as the radio dimmed between songs.

Keith jumped at the sound of Shiro’s voice, having forgotten he was here in the span of time it had taken him to walk from the front door to the kitchen.

After pressing the spacers against the tile, Keith turned around to look at Shiro. He stood outlined in the open doorway of the kitchen, paint stained shirt tight around his crossed arms.

“Why are you still here?” Shiro asked, but rather than holding a reprimanding edge, there was only curiosity and concern.

“Why are you here?” Keith countered as he picked up the next tile for the pattern. He turned it over in his hands and avoided meeting Shiro’s gaze.

With a sigh, Shiro walked into the room and pulled himself up to sit on the counter top. He was on the other side of the kitchen from Keith, but it was so small that Keith could almost reach out and touch him.

Shiro’s cheeks flushed a little as he cleared his throat. “I was working on tearing up the carpet and only just noticed the time. What about you?”

“Kolivan cut all these tiles for the backsplash,” Keith motioned to the pattern of tiles laid out around him, perfectly arranged in order of placement, “but I don’t have the budget or the time to have one of the team install it. So I’m here now.” He shrugged it off as he smeared mortar on the back of this tile and set it on the wall beside the others.

“Did you get too advantageous with the pattern or tile, or did the budget go to something else?” Shiro leaned forward as if to inspect the quality of the tile.

Maybe it was the time of night or the exhaustion that Keith could feel weighing heavily on him, but the truth slipped right out beside his yawn, “Nah, I overbid on the duplex, so I have to make up the five grand extra if I still want to do everything I planned.”

There was silence between them as Keith fell back into the rhythm of his work.

“You overbid?” Shiro’s voice was tight, a strained whisper.

Keith hummed in affirmation. “I only had about a hundred twenty seven grand after working for your grandfather for three years and helping renovate a couple kitchens. But I wanted this place so much that I didn’t care what it took. If I break even, as long as it gets my name out there, it’ll be worth it.”

Instead of having to reach for the next tile, Shiro held it out, ready and easy for Keith to grab. He gave a tired smile as thanks before smearing mortar on the back and placing it in position.

They worked in that rhythm for several minutes. The only sound between them was the staticy hum of the old radio. Commercials were playing, late night ones about calling in for confessions and Guinness beer.

“I could’ve outbid you on the duplex,” Shiro confessed, but Keith didn’t even flinch. He took the next tile from Shiro as he continued, “But I saw how much you wanted it. And — and I thought that it might be nice to get to work with you again.”

“I know,” Keith breathed the second all of the tile spacers were out of his mouth and placed between the tiles.

Shiro’s surprise made him hesitate to hand the next tile, so Keith picked it up himself. His voice was hoarse, “You knew?”

“Of course, I knew.” Keith rolled his eyes and spoke between the plastic spacers pinched between his lips. “You taught me all I know about bidding. The ‘show that you mean business’ strategy may have worked on all of the others, but I know that it’s your favorite technique. You quickly jump the bid close to your maximum price to scare away all of the bargain hunters who could drive up the price.” Pulling the last spacer from between his lips, Keith turned to face Shiro. “But you always talked about how patience yields focus, so to keep your bid jump price below a tenth of your maximum bid.”

“Keith —”

“That’s why I know you were able to go up and over one hundred forty thousand.” Keith placed the trowel down and wiped his hands off on the towel threaded through one of his belt loops. “So why did you let me have it, Shiro?”

Shiro was perched on the edge of the counter, paint drying across his jaw and pulling at his skin. The collar of his shirt was loose and dipped low so that Keith could see the jut of his collarbones. There was a pallor to his skin that was highlighted by the halogen lights Regris had propped up before he left hours ago. The lights made the shadows on Shiro’s face more severe, cutting deep into the furrow of his brow and the frown on his lips.

“I don’t know,” Shiro whispered.

Keith’s immediate reaction was to bite and growl and curse, because shouldn’t the answer have been obvious? But the longer his gaze settled on Shiro’s features, he could almost see the gears turning in his mind.

“Well, I’ll be here for another five weeks, so you’ll know where to find me when you figure it out,” Keith joked as he gently kicked out one of his feet to bump against Shiro’s shin. “Until then, you can help me with this backsplash.”

With a huff of laughter, Shiro picked up the next tile in the pattern. “Yes, sir.”

That familiar silence settled between them, a little too warm beneath the lights and a little too close to what they had been so many years ago. But Keith leaned into Shiro’s presence, allowing himself to finally enjoy the fact that he was back in town.

“I’m having Hunk raise the ceilings,” Shiro began, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Oh, talking about top secret plans, are we?” Keith paused for a minute, realizing that his exhaustion was making him delirious, because he shouldn’t be doubling over with laughter at that statement.

But Shiro was chuckling too. Wide smile and crinkled eyes.

“We don’t have to,” Shiro said after they’d both stopped laughing. “I don’t want to —”

“Doesn’t matter to me. I know you wouldn’t steal any of my designs anyway, too rustic for all that industrial flair of yours.” Keith’s fingers brushed Shiro’s as he took the next tile, and he hated how a jolt of electricity flared up his arm. “How are you raising the ceilings though? I wanted to, because we both know that eight foot ceilings aren’t really a selling point. But Zethrid said there wasn’t a way unless I wanted to get all new ductwork.”

“I’m going to leave the ductwork exposed, paint it white to blend it with the ceiling.” Shiro grabbed the trowel and began smearing the mortar on the back for Keith so their pace was a little faster. “I’m having to pay Hunk a nice chunk of change to move some ducts for a most aesthetic presentation.”

Keith grabbed another tile and forced himself to avoid touching Shiro’s fingers. “I think that’ll work really well with your style. I can’t wait to see it.”

“Really? Because Allura was ready to tell me I wouldn’t be able to sell the place, because no one in this town would appreciate it.” Shiro shrugged off the comment like it meant nothing, but Keith could hear the weight of the words, the tightness that held something thick like resentment or fear.

Keith glanced up to examine Shiro’s expression, but it seemed that the boy had turned to hide his face in shadow.

“I guess your grandfather’s style doesn’t really match yours.”

Shiro barked a laugh, head tipped back and teeth glinting in the halogen lights. “Oh, definitely.”

Keith reached past the tile and touched the delicate skin of Shiro’s inner wrist. The tendons were tensed and his skin was so warm. “That was why you went to Portland in the first place, right?”

Shiro hummed in response, pulling out of Keith’s tentative grip and pressing the clean side of the tile into Keith’s palm.

Keith took it as the deliberate sign it was to let the subject drop. He pressed another tile into the pattern and could finally see the backsplash taking shape. “Now I just have to copy this behind the stove. Thankfully, the rest are meshed-backed patterns, so they’ll take half the time that this is taking.”

“It’s beautiful, Keith.” There was a sincerity to Shiro’s voice that Keith leaned into and desired to hear more of.

“Thanks. I really wanted to do this house right.”

In what felt like no time at all, Keith placed the last tile behind the sink and took a step back to look at it all together. It _was_ beautiful, and Keith couldn’t hold back his smile.

“So tomorrow when I’m staying late to remove all the wallpaper in the office, you’ll help me?” Shiro joked, wiping his hands off on his already stained shirt.

“If I’m not back here doing the stove’s backsplash, then of course I’ll help.” Keith almost cursed the honesty that saturated his tone. He was too tired to be talking with Shiro. All of the seams he’d pulled tight in the wake of Shiro’s disappearance were coming loose. They’d only been around each other for a couple weeks, most of it in passing, and already Keith was melting in his presence — drawn close like a moth to light, even knowing the consequences.

Shiro bumped their shoulders together. “Not really something rivals say, huh?”

“We’re not rivals, Shiro.”

Shiro scrunched his features and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Really? I kind of thought you hated me for a bit.” It was clear that he regretted the words as soon as they left his lips. “Keith, I— I—” 

“I’ve _never_ hated you, Shiro.” The strength of his words was almost as startling to Keith as it was to Shiro. Clearing his throat, he turned to close up the excess mortar and clean off the trowel. While keeping his hands busy, he said, “I hated that you left, but I never hated you.”

“I thought with Sugarhill —”

“Why’d you come back?” Keith cut him off, voice curt and brandishing a knife of indignance. Turning on the ball of his foot, Keith marched up to Shiro so that they were almost pressed chest to chest. His neck hurt from the significant height difference between them, but he was determined to meet that tempered steel gaze.

From this distance, he watched Shiro’s adam’s apple bob with a harsh swallow. He could smell the paint drying on his shirt and the timberwood body wash that Shiro had used since high school.

“A lot of reasons,” Shiro whispered, and his chest seemed to deflate at the admission, pulling away from Keith and carving inward. “My jiji needs help in the shop, my boyfriend and I broke up, and designers like me are a dime-a-dozen in Portland. My style is cliché. Trite.”

Keith wanted to linger on the boyfriend that was stupid enough to break up with Takashi Shirogane, but it was evident that Shiro’s thoughts lingered elsewhere. His fists were trembling at his sides, and his chest puffed out in barely contained rage.

“I understood why Adam didn’t support me redesigning that celebrity chef’s kitchen, but that was only because it was a rush job and would take all of my time and attention for months. I didn’t think it was because I was going to be torn apart in the press.”

Before Keith could even attempt to reach out to Shiro, his best friend was pulling away, digging his hands into his hair and curling in on himself. He leaned over the half demolished counter with his head propped up by his elbows. There was a severe curve to Shiro’s back, like he was being sucked into himself — torn asunder from the world and into the harsh reality of Portland’s interior design critique.

“I didn’t see anything about that,” Keith said softly, afraid to reach out and touch Shiro — like one touch may untether him from all of reality.

“I’m surprised you didn’t. It felt like the review was everywhere.” Shiro’s words were hollow, rasped against the new rawness of his throat. “And I couldn’t blame them either, because it was awful. Too severe and too dark. Wouldn’t be somewhere I would want to cook in.”

“Shiro—”

“And I just kept thinking that it was like Sugarhill all over again, but without you to hold me back and balance me out.” Shiro jolted up right and turned to face Keith with an expression of haunted grief. His grip was a little too tight when his hands landed on Keith’s shoulders. “And I just thought that if I could work with you again that somehow I would find my way again. That you could be my Polaris, Keith, and —”

“You know I can’t be that for you, Shiro.” Keith whispered.

Shiro’s face collapsed in stages. First his eyes closed, then his brow furrowed, and finally his lips pulled down in a severe frown. “I know. I know that.”

There was too much time between them, too much hurt and too much distance. The only thing that kept Keith steady was his own design style, the steadfast gut instinct that drove him forward and kept him from second guessing his design choices. He couldn’t be that for Shiro too, not after Sugarhill.

Not after everything.

And they both knew that.

“Can I see pictures?” Keith asked, placing a delicate hand on Shiro’s forearm.

The touch seemed to pull Shiro out of his collapsed state. Within a minute, his phone was pressed into Keith’s hands.

It was exactly how Shiro described, dark and severe, and it took Keith’s breath away. The lower cabinets were a sleek black with no hardware, all opening with little notches at the top. The island was black granite with a waterfall finish over the sides. The sink was large and highlighted with silver fixtures. Above the island hung a lovely industrial chandelier crafted from muted steel. The vent hood was another gleam of silver between bright white upper cabinets.

The highlight of the whole kitchen was the backsplash that ran the whole length of the wall like a scene out of a Van Gogh painting. It was a delicate mosaic based off the painting “Starry Night” with swirls of color and brilliant stars.

“Oh,” the word hissed out of him like he’d been punched in the stomach.

“I know,” Shiro growled, locking his phone and turning the screen black. “Interior design magazines called it ‘ugly enough to make food taste bad.’”

“It’s beautiful,” Keith finished his thought, tilting his chin up to meet Shiro’s narrowed gaze. “How did you do the backsplash?”

Shiro huffed a sigh and ran his metal fingers through his forelock. “Pidge came up with some program for me, but I had to do all of the little tiles by hand. It took forever.”

“I can’t believe that the chef didn’t like it. I think it’s magazine worthy, you know?”

“You don’t have to say stuff like that just to make me feel better, Keith.” Shiro’s voice was hollow as he gently took the phone back from Keith’s grip.

“Do you honestly think I would lie to you?” Keith snapped, hands dropping to his hips and head tilted to the side so he could peer under Shiro’s hunched posture. When Shiro didn’t answer, Keith stepped in front of him and made their eyes meet. “I don’t sugar coat anything, ever.”

“I know,” Shiro wheezed.

Keith pressed close between them, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “So why do you think I’m lying to you?”

“I just —” Shiro huffed and ran a hand through his hair. “Adam said nice things about the kitchen until the magazines started tearing it apart.”

“Oh,” Keith breathed.

Shiro's laugh was a dark, twisted thing. “Yeah.”

“Well, I think it’s beautiful. The chef was lucky to have you design a space for them.” Keith leaned against the counter, still posed within Shiro’s space in order to keep those steel grey eyes upon him. “I noticed all of the little considerations you put into your design. You always think about the customer, even if they don’t think of you.”

“Thanks, Keith,” Shiro’s tone was weary, but there was a lightness to his eyes that belied his belief in Keith’s words. “Well, I think it’s time to go home.”

Keith rolled out his shoulder and stepped out of the kitchen. “I was honestly debating sleeping upstairs since I have to be in at eight.”

“Come on,” Shiro placed a gentle hand on Keith’s lower back, guiding him out of the duplex with that burning touch. “I’ll drive you home if you’re too tired.”

“N—no, thank you though.” Keith cleared his throat and pulled his bike’s keys from his pocket. He shoved on his leather jacket and helmet from the storage space. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Bright and early.” Shiro’s smile was dazzling, even in the muted streetlights.

“I’ll bring the coffee. Two creams and three sugars.” Keith pointed at Shiro before slinging a leg over his bike.

“You remember?”

“Of course I did.”

Shiro gave him a final wave goodbye and a warm smile. Even after the fifteen minute drive home in the blistering wind, Keith could still feel the burning weight of Shiro’s hand on his back.

『•••✎•••』

The next week saw roofers scaling tall ladders and stomping across the roof to reshingle the entire thing. Supposedly, the duplex was already on its second set of shingles — meaning that the entire roof needed to be redone.

Keith had cursed and looked at his already cramped budget. He was hoping that the professionals could just add another layer of shingles, protecting the house without the price tag of repairing the entire roof.

Shiro had nudged Keith with a soft smile. “I’ll pay 75% of the costs, Keith. Don’t worry.”

“Fuck no, you won’t,” Keith growled under his breath. He ignored the poorly-hidden stares of the workers around them.

Just because Shiro knew that Keith was already five thousand over budget, didn’t mean he needed his pity. Keith had earned everything he needed to pay for this house by working his ass off, and he wasn’t going to let Shiro be guilt tripped into patching their relationship with money.

“Keith, the majority of the damage is on my side.” Shiro folded his arms, narrowed his eyes, and tilted his chin up. He was using that gentle authority tone — something he had picked up from one of his many extracurriculars in high school, or maybe it was leading all of those group projects in college. It made something sizzle down the length of Keith’s spine.

Setting his teeth on edge, Keith tilted his gaze up to meet Shiro’s. “How about we have them divide the price by the amount of work then. I’d prefer that to you paying some arbitrary 75%.”

“Deal.” Shiro stuck his hand out to shake.

“Deal.”

『•••✎•••』

A knock sounded at the door after all of Keith’s team had left. He was covered in grout, filling in all of the spaces between the tiles that had finally been attached in the kitchen. “Come in!” he called over the soft din of the radio.

“I have a delivery for Takashi Shirogane,” an unfamiliar voice called.

Keith peered into the hallway and saw a young woman with a Dominos shirt on and an insulated bag hanging from her hands. “Oh,” Keith hurried to the front door and pulled out his wallet.

“It’s already paid for, sir.” The girl pulled the pizza out of the bag and handed it to Keith. “Have a great night.”

He nodded in response, and the second he heard her car drive away, he slipped out on the porch and waltzed into Shiro’s side of the duplex without knocking.

“Delivery,” he drawled. He couldn’t fight his smile at Shiro’s instantaneous leap down the stairs.

He came thundering down the steps with a half smile on his lips. “Keith, did they come to your side?”

“Yeah, but I thought I would deliver it myself so that I could spy on the competition,” he laughed and gazed around the house. 

New flooring was being installed, so half of the plywood that was uncovered was draped with plastic. A fine layer of dust covered everything in the house, signs of ongoing demolition. Gazing up, he could see some of the work Hunk was doing on raising the ceiling; there didn’t even appear to be that many pipes on display, and it gave the home a more open feel.

“It’s looking good in here,” Keith commented as Shiro took the pizza from his hands and led him to the living room.

“It’s coming along.” Shiro placed the box on a propped open ladder. With one slice in each hand, he motioned for Keith to take one himself. “I really wish we could start painting already. I’m getting sick of looking at all this seafoam green.”

“Oh, it’s absolutely disgusting. Thankfully my side is all beige, but that definitely gets old fast.” Keith shrugged as he pulled a slice from the box. He moaned around his bite of pizza. His stomach growled in response, and he realized that he hadn’t had dinner yet.

Shiro slumped against the wall and spoke around a bite of food, “Thought about a color for the outside of the house, yet?”

“I have. Have you?” Keith countered, licking off the grease that had dripped onto his fingers.

“Yeah, but I don’t think you’re going to like it,” Shiro mumbled.

Keith rolled his eyes and reached for another slice, hunger unsated from a single piece of pizza. “That’s because I don’t want to paint the whole house grey, Shiro.”

“How’d you know?” Shiro’s smile was wide and dangerously handsome.

“The same way you knew that I was doing a kitchen island rather than a breakfast bar.”

Shiro hummed and savagely tore into his second slice.

“What about white?” Keith asked, and he laughed immediately after seeing Shiro’s aghast expression. “Okay, so maybe not white. What about a blue or something? It’d be unique at least.”

Shiro leaned forward that familiar twinkling mischief in his eyes. “A gray-ish blue?”

Keith tipped his head back with a laugh. “I’ll get the paint swatches tomorrow.”

“We can decide over lunch?” Shiro’s voice was a little deeper, and Keith’s gaze caught on the sudden uptick in Shiro’s breathing.

“Sure,” he heard himself whisper more so than felt himself say it.

“Perfect. It’s a date!”

『•••✎•••』

Shiro’s words echoed in Keith’s mind as he laid awake. Drying paint was still caked under his nails despite his long shower. He knew that Shiro didn’t mean it like a _date_ date.

But Keith couldn’t help himself.

It’s been something that he’d been dreaming of since he first learned what genuine attraction was. Shiro had always been someone spectacular, and Keith had always been dazzled by everything he dreamed of being and everything he was. He used to image that one of their nights sneaking out from under Mr. Shirogane’s nose would be a real date and not some midnight get away or high school party.

Despite all of his adolescent dreams, an anxious nausea bubbled in his stomach. It had only been a month since Shiro had waltzed back into town and into Keith’s life.

And a month couldn’t fix all of the hurt and pain and loneliness of three years.

He wished it could. God, he fucking wished it could.

『•••✎•••』

Lunch came quickly — between waking up at dawn and hauling in the new French doors for the living room, Keith barely even noticed Shiro striding into his side of the duplex.

“Wow, it’s looking good in here,” Shiro whistled while wearing that signature debonair smile. “It makes me actually think you’ll be done in four weeks.”

Zethrid barked a laugh while Acxa rolled her eyes. “Please don't encourage him, Shirogane,” Acxa reprimanded, emphasizing their one year age gap.

“He’s already working us to the bone,” Zethrid chuckled as she put the last screw in to hinge the doors to the wall.

“Oh, I’m sure he is.” Shiro winked in Keith’s direction, and a wave of heat rushed from his toes to his head. It was a fragment of their old communication, how they could say everything they wanted to in such small motions: a half smile, the barely-there raise of an eyebrow, or the scrunch of a nose.

Keith huffed a sigh as he rolled out his shoulders and shucked off his workman's gloves. He tucked them into his back pocket. “Yeah, well any more complaining and I’ll really work you to the bone.” The girls laughed in response before turning back to their tasks for the day. Keith placed his hand on Shiro’s arm, enjoying the gentle swells of muscle and heated skin a little too much. “Let’s get out of here for lunch before they try to throw a coup d'etat.”

Shiro laughed heartily and let himself be pushed out of the duplex.

“Jiji said he was going to bring lunch for us, so I thought it might be nice to take it out here.” Shiro motioned to their newly finished steps.

The staircase looked so much more structurally sound that the last one. Fresh sealant glimmered on the wood, making sure that it would last much longer than the last set had. The railing that poised in the middle was beautiful, and it looked hand crafted.

“I got the railing from your parent’s shop. I thought it might be nice to add something of you in here,” Shiro said softly.

Keith jerked his gaze up, but he only caught a flash of Shiro’s eyes before his gaze jerked towards the road. He was scratching at the back of his neck while a flush settled into the apples of his cheeks, highlighting the scar across his nose.

“Shiro, that’s so —”

Before Keith could even hope to finish, Shiro’s phone rang loudly from his pocket. He fumbled with the device and winced when he saw the name on the screen. “Sorry, I got to take this.” He picked up the call and strode out on his side of the porch. “Hi. Hi, how are you?” His tone was rough, but maybe it was due to the low volume he was trying to speak in.

Not trying to seem like he was prying, Keith paced out to the walkway. They’d contracted someone to come and repave the path, but it would probably cost less if Keith rented out a power washer and some Raid to clean it off. Might be another project to do at dawn or in the middle of the night if he had sufficient light for it.

But Keith could hardly pay attention to strategizing about the pathway, when Shiro’s tone suddenly sounded so strained.

“I don’t really want to talk about it.” Shiro practically growled, digging his prosthesis into his hair and pulling on the few long strands. “Why? Because we’ve talked about it so many times before. You know why I’m here, Adam.” 

Keith cringed at the name, remembering everything Shiro had said about Adam and the comments on his chef’s kitchen redesign. He curled his nails into his palms, before letting out a sigh like a hiss of steam. He leaned down to inspect how deep the crack in the concrete went, instead of listening in on Shiro’s conversation.

But at the ache in Shiro’s voice, Keith couldn’t help but tune in.

“Well, I can’t stop you. Do whatever you want, but it’s not going to change anything.” Shiro’s voice was barely a hiss, almost lost in the soft breeze filtering through the trees or the car door slamming.

Keith glanced up to see Shiro’s grandfather making his way across the street and down the uneven path Keith was inspecting. The old man was carrying a take-out bag from Keith’s favorite Mexican place — the one with authentic food that tasted like heaven. He was wearing a smile and another one of those sweaters that looked like it was on the cusp between vintage and falling apart.

“Keith,” he reached out a trembling hand to pat Keith on the shoulder, “it’s so good to see you spending time with Takashi again. I bought you two lunch.”

“Y—yeah. It’s been nice,” Keith stumbled, and his exhale held a little too much of that dreamy quality that polluted Keith’s mind around Shiro. Keith cleared his throat, and was about to say something to contradict the knowing glint in Mr. Shirogane’s gaze, but he spoke first.

“Well, you’re much better than that publicist or editor or whatever-he-called-himself that Shiro was seeing in Portland. Too haughty for my blood.” Mr. Shirogane shrugged, but before he could say anything else Shiro marched down the stairs. Each footfall was a staccato of anger.

“Fine. Bye.” With a huff, Shiro shoved his phone into his pocket. His posture immediately relaxed when he saw his grandfather. “Hi, Jiji. Thanks for bringing food.”

Keith took the bag from Mr. Shirogane’s hands, hefting it in one arm and giving them both a gentle smile. “Yeah, how much do I owe you?”

Mr. Shirogane waved him off. “Never anything from you, Keith. Just keep my Takashi in line, and we’re even.”

Keith tipped back his head and laughed, enjoying the way Shiro pouted like they were back in high school again.

“You know Jiji, most people think I keep him in line,” Shiro pointed out.

“Well, we all know most people are idiots. Now you both have a good day. I expect you and your parents over for dinner someday soon, Keith,” Mr. Shirogane said before pulling Shiro into a hug and surprisingly pulling Keith in for one too. Keith couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled from his stomach — and he wished he wasn’t able to pinpoint so clearly when everything in this town seemed to brighten.

“Of course. Shiro and I will pick a date and everything.”

They both waved goodbye before heading back up to the stairs and pulling out the to-go containers.

“You know you don’t have to indulge him,” Shiro said around a bite of food. “You don’t have to drag your family all the way to my house just for dinner.”

“Like my parents wouldn’t jump at the chance to see your grandfather?” Keith chuckled before licking a drip of hot sauce off his palm.

“Did —” Shiro chewed around his words like the food in his mouth, “— did you all ever get a chance to see my grandfather while I was gone?”

Keith set his fork down in the container and took a swig from his water bottle before answering, “Rarely. I told you I did some jobs for him here and there. It was mostly so that I could get experience and some money to back my first project with —” _without you_ , caught in his throat. He coughed and took another sip of water before continuing, “But we didn’t really get to see him like we used to. It — it was hard to be in your house without you there. I kept expecting to see you around every corner.”

Shiro hummed in response, a thing that neither agreed nor disagreed with Keith.

Keith pushed the fork through the food as he bit down on several questions. Of course, the one he never wanted to say tumbled out instead, “Why’d you stop calling and stuff? It was almost like you’d left the planet or something.”

There was too much weight in Keith’s words, a heaviness that belied the suffocating emotions he lived with for three years. And by Shiro’s wince, it was obvious that he heard it all.

“We did talk,” Shiro mumbled.

“In the beginning.”

“Yeah.”

“So why did we stop?”

“You know I’m not good at texting and stuff.” Shiro placed his food down on the carefully opened napkins on his lap. With a sigh, he hunched a little more into himself and said, “I remember that time you had to climb the tree outside my window because I wasn’t answering.”

“Shiro,” Keith sighed, but they both knew it was a reprimand in a single word, “don’t bullshit me. Not now. Not after everything. Was it because of Sugarhill?”

He felt Shiro’s gasp more than he heard it. Maybe it was because it sucked all the sound from the world, created a vacuum in time so that they could both embrace the silence and the untouchable space that was only now starting to slowly close between them.

“No,” he wheezed like Keith had socked him in the stomach. “It was just — it was hard to be close to you when I was so far away. Every time I got off the phone, all I wanted to do was book a plane ticket and come back here. And then after Adam —” Shiro cut himself off like he’d let himself talk too far.

Keith didn’t want to ask — didn’t want to know about the boy that Shiro had loved — but he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “What about Adam?”

“He was just insecure. He didn’t know you or our relationship, and he was jealous. It wasn’t like he didn’t want us to be friends, but he said that I was different when I talked to you.” Shiro buried his prosthesis in his hair, cutting off Keith’s view from his face. There was the hand-carved railing between them, but Keith longed to tear it off so that he could press close to Shiro’s side.

He wanted to agree, to say that _I’m different when I’m with you. I’m better. I’m the best me that I can ever imagine being._

And at the same time, he also wanted to admit that it broke him when Shiro left. He wasn’t the same — didn’t think he ever could be. Being with him now was like a bandaid on a gaping chasm. It was something that had threatened to implode with him, kept at bay by Shiro’s sudden appearance. But if Shiro left again, he didn’t think anything could keep him from vanishing into a void of himself.

“And somehow it was just easier to not talk.” Shiro shrugged halfheartedly. “I missed home less and Adam was happier.”

“Were _you_ happier?” Keith whispered, peering between the railing for some hint of Shiro’s expression. But this railing, this simple construction, felt higher than Everest.

Shiro pulled his hand from his hair, and they both fell to his lap. He tilted his head upward, gazing at the barely-visible moon, diluted by the sunlight. “I don’t think so.”

“Is that part of the reason you moved back? I know you said that it was a lot of things, but…” Keith let the sentence drift off as the words _I couldn’t help but feeling there was more_ caught in his throat.

“I was homesick.” Shiro finally turned to look at Keith, and the expression in his steel grey eyes made Keith pause. They were watery, but they held such clarity — nothing like the Shiro that had left him behind after Sugarhill. “Maybe I was homesick more for a person than I was a place,” he whispered.

“Shiro,” Keith echoed, bracing his hands on the railing and leaning forward. Desperate to close the distance, to physically patch up all the space that had taken root between them.

Shiro turned his gaze to the ground, jaw tight and words stiff, “It was also hard to keep calling when you so rarely picked up, Keith.”

Keith registered his own movements, how he was drifting closer to Shiro, as the words rolled over him like the tide. His muscles tensed, and the edge of a rebuttal, something harsh and sharp and meant to hurt, sat on the tip of his tongue.

Before Keith could speak, the door to Shiro’s side of the duplex thundered open.

“Pidge, get that damn thing away from me!” Hunk cried, running down the steps to hide in front of Shiro.

Pidge waltz through the door with a cockroach trapped between a plastic paint brush container and a piece of cardboard. “Why Hunk? I thought you said you were even manlier than Shiro.”

“I was joking!” Hunk grabbed hold of Shiro’s shoulders as if to position him between himself and Pidge. “Everyone jokes, Pidge! Please kill the cockroach or let it go. Don’t get any closer. _Don’t get any closer!_ ”

Shiro gave Keith a wry smile.

Whatever moment had been building between them was gone in that instant. Keith nodded goodbye and packed up his leftovers and walked inside the duplex. He shoved them on the dirty kitchen countertop and ignored the inquisitive gazes from the girls inside.

“How was lunch?” Zethrid asked with poorly concealed curiosity.

“Fine. I’m going to go work on painting the bedroom upstairs.” Keith didn’t wait for their responses and practically sprinted from the room.

He realized how thin of a veneer his lie was — there was no painting equipment in the bedroom, all of it still lying haphazard in the office downstairs. But he couldn’t stay there under their analytical gazes. Or listen to their questions about Shiro, about what they had said, or about the nonexistent possibility that Shiro might treasure Keith the way Keith had unfailingly done all of these years.

Instead, he curled against the door and buried his head into his hands.

『•••✎•••』

The rest of the week and the following week went by with awkward smiles and half-finished conversations. Construction was busy and ongoing for both of these projects, so they were continually pulled away from each other.

“I’ve got you now,” Shiro joked as he pulled Keith from Acxa with the excuse of the paint swatches in his hands. “Want to eat lunch while we discuss the color of the house?”

“Sure.”

In twenty minutes, they were sitting at the bottom of the front steps again with swatches spread out on the newly-paved walkway. Through a bite of noodles, Keith said, “I like Shipwreck, but I also think Admiral would be a nice color.”

“Really? I think Cavalry is the best.”

“That’s because it’s the grayest,” Keith chuckled, but he startled when footsteps suddenly stopped before their spread of blues and grays.

It was a pair of polished brown loafers, tied off with little brown laces, and brown socks peeked beneath the perfectly hemmed khakis. Keith’s gaze slowly traveled up the figure before them. He was tall, taller than Keith for sure and maybe even Shiro. His tweed blazer was draped over the arm that held his leather briefcase. He smiled awkwardly, tense and one sided, as he pushed up his glasses. Even his skin, hair, and eyes were varying shades of brown.

“Adam,” Shiro breathed and jumped to his feet.

Keith immediately recoiled. The food that he had eaten settled like led in the bottom of his stomach. He braced himself on the stair’s railing as he stood, a little weak in the knees and definitely nauseous.

“Takashi,” Adam using Shiro’s given name was like a physical blow to the stomach for Keith, “I’m sorry to come out of the blue, but you kind of told me to.” Adam smiled that tense smile.

“I did, but I didn’t think you’d come.” Shiro sounded as breathless as Keith felt.

Adam stepped forward, planting his polished loafer on Keith’s favorite paint swatch. “I had to see you. I had to apologize.”

“Adam—”

“I’ll just go,” Keith whispered under his breath, not really expecting the two men before him to notice his disappearance. But Adam turned with an inquisitive eye towards Keith.

Shifting his briefcase to his left hand, he reached out and offered to shake Keith’s hand. “Adam West.”

“Keith Kogane.”

“Ah, the family friend. It’s nice to finally meet you.” Adam released Keith’s grip and sent a curled smile at Shiro. 

“Yeah, that’s me. How do you know Shiro?” Keith crossed his arms and leaned against the banister for support.

Shiro gave him a withering stare, because they’d discussed Adam before — and they were both well aware that Keith was never the type to forget an “enemy.”

Shiro answered before Adam could say anything, “We dated for a while when he lived in Portland.”

Adam huffed a laugh, a brisk thing, before bumping his shoulder against Shiro’s. “I don’t know if I would describe ex-fiancés as ‘dating for a while,’ but okay.” Shiro flushed crimson, rubbing at the back of his neck and mumbling something to Adam that Keith couldn’t hear.

Just beyond Shiro’s shoulder, Adam met Keith’s gaze with a glare that held a little too much mischief.

“Shiro, do you mind if I steal you away for a little. I don’t want to interrupt your lunch.” There was a saccharine sweetness to Adam’s voice that made Keith’s stomach roil.

“No worries. Lost my appetite anyway.” Keith bent down and shoveled his leftovers and trash into his arms. “Shiro, we can talk about house colors later, okay?”

“Okay,” Shiro breathed while his furrowed brow stayed fixed on Adam.

Keith sighed and marched into his side of the duplex. Dumping his leftovers and trash onto the countertop, Keith waved off Acxa and Zethrid and slung the old boombox over his shoulder. After he stomped up the stairs, he blasted the classic rock station as loud as possible and began painting the back bedroom as aggressively as possible.

『•••✎•••』

“So we’re officially going with Blue Fjord?” Keith asked, fork dangling between his teeth as he talked.

“I really like it. I feel like it’s the perfect cross between blue and grey.” Shiro pulled the paint swatch up again and looked at it in the newly installed recessed lights in his kitchen. “Do you think we should do a swatch test outside?”

“Nah. We finally agreed on one, so let’s just go for it,” Keith laughed.

Shiro couldn’t hold back his smile at the sentiment. “So I’ll get a small test can and test it on both sides of the house tomorrow?”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Sounds good.”

Shiro smiled and added it to the running to-do list that he kept on the countertop. It was currently three pages of notebook paper stapled together. The first two pages were entirely crossed out, all items that had been completed on time.

Without lifting his gaze, Shiro said, “I’m sorry that it took so long to finalize this.”

“It’s okay.” Keith watched Shiro from beneath his bangs, hiding the narrowed analysis of his gaze. “You seemed pretty busy at lunch, and I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Yeah,” Shiro sighed.

Keith leaned back in his chair and used his plastic fork to pick sesame seeds out of his teeth. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He was struggling between the urge to hear everything about Adam — to tear him apart in his mind and find all the faults with his beige appearance — and to hide from the first ex that had managed to come between them.

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Shiro scrubbed both of his hands down his face. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the countertop, closing the space between them. “He came to apologize.”

“That’s a long way to apologize,” Keith commented, unable to bite back the harsh quality to his voice.

Shiro nodded while chewing on his bottom lip. “Yeah, it’s not like Portland is next door or anything.” He paused, brushing his flesh fingers through the grooves of his prosthetic. “He mentioned something about getting back together.”

“Yeah?” Keith choked back. He dropped his plastic fork into the empty to-go container to prevent bloody gums from digging in too hard.

“Yeah.” Shiro’s gaze darted up, and he almost seemed surprised to find Keith already watching him. “But — but I couldn’t. Not after everything. I mean the apology was nice, but to not even warn me about the article was kind of the nail in the coffin for me.”

Keith paused for a moment to take in the information Shiro had just nonchalantly mentioned. He couldn’t hide the anger in his voice as he hissed, “You never said it was Adam’s magazine that published the piece on the kitchen you did.”

“I didn’t really want to talk about that part.” He shrugged like it was something off-hand — not like his boyfriend had been a part of the magazine that had published something that was so cutthroat and obviously out for Shiro’s career. “It’s not like he’s the guy who approved the story or someone who could veto something like that.”

“But that doesn’t mean it’s fair,” Keith finished for him, words still feral and cut sharp on the edges of his teeth.

Shiro’s smile was a half-formed, bitter thing. “The Garrison’s never really been an unbiased magazine.”

Keith’s nose wrinkled. “You didn’t tell me it was that gossip rag that published the story. If you’d said that a garbage magazine wrote a garbage article about you, I would’ve told you that trash only knows how to appreciate its own kind.”

Shiro hummed a soft laugh. The humor lightened the creases around his eyes and softened the clench of his jaw.

Keith gave Shiro a warm smile before glancing down at his phone. Acxa had sent him a message about what stone he wanted for the refacing of the fireplace. He clicked through the pictures as familiar silence settled between him and Shiro.

And maybe it was because he was so distracted that Shiro’s next comment really seemed to come out of nowhere. “He asked to do a piece about us.”

Keith’s phone fell into his lap as he gave Shiro a skeptical look. With one eyebrow raised, Keith propped his head up on his elbow and leaned against the counter. “Us?”

“Yeah. I kind of talked about our little competition with selling our sides of the duplex and he thought it would make a great article.”

If he had any respect for the magazine before they published that awful piece about Shiro, Keith didn’t have any now. As he spoke, he couldn’t keep the venom out of his tone. “But it’ll be for the Garrison.”

“Yeah,” Shiro sighed as he tilted his head to the ceiling. It was almost finished; the last piece of drywall was currently leaning against the wall. A couple ducts and pipes ran alongside the wall opposite of the fireplace, but amongst the newly implemented design features and the current construction, it fit in perfectly.

Keith shrugged a shoulder and leaned forward to take a long swig of his beer. It’d turned lukewarm in the time since they began dinner — too distracted with paint swatches and small talk to drink or eat much of anything.

“But it’ll be Adam writing it,” Shiro huffed a sigh and dragged his prosthesis through his hair, catching on chunks of dried paint splatter. “And even after everything we’ve been through, I trust him to create something authentic.”

Keith hummed in response, unsure of what to say to Shiro’s unflagging loyalty for a man that didn’t support his dreams. Gazing at Shiro from beneath his bangs, Keith asked, “Do you want to do it?”

Shiro paused for a moment as if mulling over the answer before speaking. “Is it bad that I do?”

“No.” Keith reached forward and placed a gentle hand on Shiro’s, but he pulled it away before his touch could linger and he could learn to yearn for that kind of connection. “You’re far too trusting though. Make sure when you agree that we have permission to request a rewrite if the final draft is awful.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Shiro laughed with a wilted smile.

They were both tired. Keith couldn’t remember the amount of times they’d caught each other waking in the mornings after having slept in sleeping bags on the sawdust covered floors of the duplex. Or the number of times they’d dragged each other out of the home just as dawn was breaking. Or the countless missed lunches and half-eaten dinners.

Keith honestly felt like he was on the verge of collapse ten hours of the day, and he was sure that Shiro felt the same.

Rubbing at his eyes, Keith couldn’t stop his yawn.

“Let’s get out of here,” Shiro suggested as he nodded towards the door.

“But tonight I was going to start mapping out where the fake beams would go in the master bedroom,” Keith spoke through another yawn. His eyes ached with each blink, but he knew that if he drank the 5-hour energy his mother had slipped into the back of his bag, he’d be good to go.

Shiro rose from his seat and casually cracked his back. With a steady hand on Keith’s shoulder, he directed them both out of the duplex while saying, “You can do it tomorrow.”

“But then I’ll be behind —”

“You’ll be even more behind if you mess up because you’re tired,” Shiro lectured, sounding just like the Golden Boy all of the high school and college teachers painted Shiro out to be.

Keith groaned and leaned all of his weight against Shiro’s hand. “You’re one to talk. I actually went home yesterday and showered and slept in my bed, but when I left your lights were still on.”

“I, uh — well, you see —” Shiro fumbled and his grip faltered on Keith’s shoulder.

Standing on the porch, Keith pulled out of Shiro’s grasp and turned to face him. In the cool night, goosebumps rose on his exposed arms, but the air around Shiro was warm — and Keith longed to be even closer.

“I bet you stink,” Keith joked, standing on his tiptoes and leaning into Shiro’s space.

“I probably smell like paint.” But Shiro didn’t try to shy away from Keith, instead letting Keith as close to his neck as possible. 

He wanted to close the distance, to taste Shiro’s pulse beneath his lips and the salt of sweat from a hard day’s work. Swallowing stiffly, Keith held himself back by sheer force of will, and instead, inhaled comically loud and made an exaggerated gagging sound.

Shiro chuckled and gently pushed Keith away. “Oh, shut it. Like you’re any better.”

Keith tipped his head back and laughed. It was soothing to have his stomach ache and his cheeks burn from the laughter and the wide smile. Shiro clutched at his own stomach and joined in.

They were walking down the pathway, wiping tears out of their eyes when Shiro said, “Do I really smell.”

“You smell like sweat, but it isn’t bad.” Keith shrugged his shoulders and was grateful that it was so dark, because he was sure his face was flushed red. Because Shiro didn’t smell bad. At all. He smelled like salt and the sea and a hard day’s work, but there wasn’t anything rotten or odorous about it. And the temptation that had crawled up Keith’s throat — the one that wanted to touch and taste and tease — still hadn’t abated.

“Oh,” Shiro breathed, “that’s good.”

“Yeah,” Keith coughed before turning to face Shiro at the end of the street. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Unfortunately.”

Keith gasped and reached out to punch Shiro in the shoulder, but the older man dodged the half-hearted jab. “Asshole.”

“You love me,” Shiro joked before turning around and waltzing to his car.

“Yeah, I do,” Keith exhaled so quietly that Shiro didn’t hear. Because if Shiro had left after Sugarhill, how far away would a real confession scare him away this time?

『•••✎•••』

It had been two weeks since Adam flew into their small, quaint town, and Keith had regretted every moment since that he had agreed to Shiro’s article.

They only had a week left to put the house on the market if they were to finish within their eight week timeline. And Keith was so behind he couldn’t stand it. Not to mention that it had rained the past week and a half, so even though they had spent hours deciding on a house color, they still hadn’t been able to paint it.

To add to bad news, Zethrid had accidentally dropped a piece of drywall on her foot and broke it last week. Keith had felt awful and had dismissed everyone for the rest of the day — despite staying late into the night himself. But he’d been able to spare a couple hours to visit her at her and Ezor’s apartment with a box of cookies his dad had made.

Ezor lamented leaving Zethrid home alone, even though her girlfriend seemed to be able to make it around their small apartment just fine in her new cast. So while Ezor was finishing up all the landscaping, Keith had to hear — in too much detail — about all of Ezor and Zethrid’s love life. And while he loved his friends, _that_ wasn’t exactly what he needed to know.

So not only was he behind, he had to hire his cousin Regris to take Zethrid’s job so that he could even hope to finish on time. Which wasn’t bad, except for the fact that Regris kept making jokes about Shiro asking Keith out or when their wedding date was or why he hadn’t received his invitation in the mail. The saving grace was that Shiro hadn’t over heard Regris’ poor attempt at humor.

And to top it all off, there was Adam. Adam West was a devil from hell charged to make Keith’s last days in the duplex miserable.

For a man embodied by the color beige, Adam was utterly determined and immovable. (For a second, it even made sense why he and Shiro had dated so seriously). He walked Keith’s side of the duplex and made notes in a small leather bound journal. The entire time, he continuously asked questions and hummed in response like the answer was unsatisfactory or insufficient.

“So, why did you decide to go for a kitchen island rather than a bar top?” Adam asked with his pen poised on the paper and one eyebrow raised. He was leaning on the edge of the counter where the last piece of granite would slot in.

“I prefer more of an open floor plan.”

“And why the different color island?”

“The cabinets are original to the house other than the hardware, but they were unbearably ugly.” Keith huffed as he screwed in the handle on the last drawer in the kitchen. “So I decided to paint them white, but I like natural wood. My family owns a carpentry shop on the other side of town, and I decided to commission them to build this piece for the duplex.” Wiping the back of his forearm across his forehead, Keith straightened and pinned Adam with a narrowed gaze.

Adam hummed in response, eyes not meeting Keith’s as he jotted down notes. “Gotcha. Why the shiplap on the wall with the fireplace? That’s an addition you made right?”

Keith rolled his eyes, not caring if Adam wasn’t staring at his paper and instead caught sight of the movement. “Yeah. I like the rustic look of it, and when it’s painted white like the rest of the walls, it adds just enough texture to accent the fireplace wall without being too overbearing.”

“Interesting,” he said in a tone that was anything but interested. “How would you define your style?”

“Rustic. Maybe a little french country at times.” Keith sighed and picked clumps of paint beneath his nails.

“Very different from Takashi’s,” Adam noted, but his eyes were no longer on his notebook. There was a curl to the corner of his lips, friendly and curious enough to set Keith on edge. “Makes me wonder what this infamous Sugarhill looked like between your rustic style and his industrial tastes.”

Keith hated how he tensed when the name “Sugarhill” dripped from Adam’s lips. “I’m sure that Shiro’s grandfather has pictures somewhere. I definitely didn’t keep any.”

“Both you and Takashi always get so defensive about that house. What went so wrong?” Adam stood up and shoved the notebook into his back pocket. “Was breaking even that bad?”

Keith’s teeth were set on edge as he spit out each word. “Breaking even isn’t _breaking even_. The price the new tenants paid was only thirty thousand above what we originally paid. With all the time we put into that project and the months we paid the rent and utilities, we had just lost over fifteen thousand dollars.” He swallowed back the sudden surge of tears. “It — it was awful.”

“I’m sorry, Keith. I didn’t mean to come across as insensitive.” Adam gave a weak smile before biting his lip and looking away. “Takashi never really talked about it. It took a year and a half before he told me that you both broke even, and that it was the reason he was out in Portland in the first place. I didn’t understand, but thank you for explaining it.”

Keith nodded stiffly. “Thank you.”

The words felt hollow, because even after all of that, Keith wasn’t sure that breaking even was the only reason why Shiro left. Maybe it was what happened the day they put Sugarhill on the market. Maybe it really was all Keith’s fault.

“I’m actually curious to see Takashi’s first renovation, you know? It’ll be cool to see how far he’s come.” Adam shrugged his shoulders and shut his small note book, tucking it into his pack pocket. “Do you mind giving me directions? Takashi freezes up every time I mention it.”

Keith stilled. His hands curled against the edge of the counter top, shoulders hunched, and each breathe tearing from his wrecked lungs.

“There’s nothing to see,” Keith whispered.

“What? Did something happen? I thought Takashi said it was near here.” Adam’s voice still held that friendly curiosity.

Keith glanced up with his teeth on edge. With the snap of the thread holding his anger back, he was a feral animal ready to attack. But it was clear that Adam’s face held no hostility or hint of deceit — just mere curiosity.

“You don’t know,” Keith breathed.

“What?”

“The new tenants redid the house themselves within a month of moving in.” Keith closed his eyes and recalled all of his late night plans with Shiro. How they’d debated for months on the countertops alone. They had a million blueprints and sketches and ideas.

Sugarhill was more than just a first project for them. It was love, a testament to everything they’d hoped to achieve. It was ambitious and creative and something they’d been willing to bet everything on.

And not only did they barely break even, but everything they’d strived for was gone within a month. The countertops were carted out and the paint was covered over. The door that Keith had demanded be red — especially since Shiro had decided on grey for the house — had been laying in the trash not three weeks after the deal.

Keith had tied it to his bike like a second passenger and driven it all the way home.

It was currently living in the back of his parent’s workshop, because Keith was determined that that red door would decorate the facade of his house — no matter the circumstances.

“Oh,” Adam’s voice was reed thin, “that’s awful.”

“Yeah,” Keith’s voice cracked. Clearing his throat, he continued, “Well, if you don’t have any more questions, I’ll get back to work.”

“Sure thing. Thanks for all of your time,” Adam smiled before giving him a quick wave and sauntering out of the home without a single glance back.

By far the worst part about Adam was that Keith was beginning to see what Shiro liked about him for all these years.

『•••✎•••』

Lotor walked into the house and whistled softly in appreciation. “Wow, it truly does look like a completely new home, Keith. Congratulations.”

“Think I’ll win?” Keith joked, pushing up his sleeves as he avoided leaning on the drying wall for support.

“With my staging, of course you will.” Lotor squeezed past Keith and seemed to take in the home, room by room, and pinpointed its potential. “It’ll be lovely. I can’t wait to incorporate the pieces your parents’ are lending me.”

“What?” Keith exhaled, eyes suddenly watery.

Lotor paused at the top of the stairs, and gazed down at Keith with a soft smile. “They tried to donate to my furniture archives, but I thought it would be nice if this was personal to just you. We’re all very proud of you, Keith, and I bet Shiro is most of all.”

Without another word, Lotor toured the rest of the house, allowing Keith to wipe away his sudden tears in peace.

『•••✎•••』

“So, tomorrows the big day, huh?” Shiro leaned back against the stairs with a beer in hand.

Keith was propped against the other side of the railing, sipping on a bottle of his own. He was exhausted and on the verge of sleep even though there seemed to be so many little things left to do. “I can’t believe we did all of this in eight weeks.”

Shiro huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I thought Pidge was going to kill me when I told her.”

“You rushed the schedule?” Keith raised an eyebrow with a knowing smirk.

“I rushed the schedule.” Shiro’s grin was self-deprecating. “Our real on market day was going to be right around yours was, but I…” he sighed by way of explanation.

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

Shiro laughed quietly between sips of beer. “No.”

Keith took a swig of his drink and rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe every single teacher loved you when you act like _this_ all the time?”

“Like what?” Shiro gasped dramatically as if offended, but that cocky smile was pulling at the corners of his lips. He knew exactly what Keith was referring to.

“You’re so competitive that it makes for a nasty character trait rather than a virtue,” Keith jeered as he stuck his free hand through the railing and punched lightly at Shiro’s shoulder. With a shuddered laugh, Keith collapsed back against the divider and sighed. Exhaustion weighed so heavily on him after the weeks of late nights and lost sleep. “I’m still surprised you even let me win the bid for this side of the duplex.”

There was a moment of silence, of quiet contemplation, with nothing but the hum of distant cars and the wind.

“Maybe I wanted to prove that we could still work together.”

“I don’t think it was us working together that made Sugarhill a problem,” Keith grumbled under his breath. And whatever was in his tone seemed to silence Shiro. Keith sipped on his beer and watched the moon slowly traverse the sky. “Why’d you come back, Shiro?”

He hadn’t meant to ask the question. But maybe it was the alcohol or the exhaustion that made him not regret it.

Shiro’s voice was so quiet that Keith almost didn’t catch it, “You already asked me that.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think you ever _really_ answered.”

Shiro sighed and ran his hands through his hair. His prosthesis was a heavy weight against the long silver strands. Without turning to face Keith, Shiro said, “Yeah. Yeah, I know. It’s just hard to explain.”

Keith shrugged, eyes drawn back to the moon rather than attempting to puzzle out the emotions behind Shiro’s expression. “Just try, Shiro.”

“I, uh,” Shiro cleared his throat, but the cracks and roughness stayed as he continued, “I always feel like it’s a good idea when I choose to move somewhere new, like I’m moving on and choosing the future. Like if I’m just somewhere else, then endless possibilities that seemed just beyond reach are finally obtainable.” Shiro paused as his other hand buried in his hair. “But maybe I’ve really just been running away.”

Keith exhaled, “Shiro —” 

“I convinced my parents to move here after the accident that took my arm. I ran away from Sugarhill. I ran away from Portland and the Garrison and Adam. Maybe my whole life has been running in the guise of moving on,” Shiro said in a single breath, an unbroken flow of regret that seeped from his body.

Keith wanted to press himself to Shiro’s side, wanted to tell him that everything was alright — that everyone runs away in their own ways. But the railing divided the stairs just like it divided them.

“You ran away from me,” Keith said, and it was more of a statement than a question.

They both knew the answer.

“Keith,” Shiro’s tone was ragged, like the mere thought of everything that happened between them was insurmountable, “you know what Sugarhill meant to both of us.”

Keith nodded, swallowing back tears. “Yeah.”

“You were so driven, so determined to make it so that Sugarhill didn't set you back. You were ready to pick another house to flip and try all over again. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I’m pretty sure that I convinced myself this town was cursed.” Shiro chuckled like it was something funny, but there was a dark edge that held so much more than lighthearted humor. “But I think I was really running away from disappointing you again.”

“You’ve never disappointed me.” The admission felt too big for Keith’s chest, for the quiet of the night around them, for the mounting tension between them.

“But it was my fault —”

“It wasn’t either of our faults. Or maybe it was both of ours. But — but it wasn’t just you, Shiro. We both worked on that house.” Keith dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands, unable to meet Shiro’s gaze as he whispered, “I felt like I’d disappointed _you_ , and that you didn’t want to work with me any longer.”

Shiro gasped like the idea was something he never even considered. The words were hushed, a rush of air more so than speaking, “Keith, no! Never.”

“What else was I supposed to think, Shiro?!” Keith tore his hands from his sides and turned to face Shiro. His face was half-hidden between the bars of the railing, and what he could see was curled in devastation. But Keith couldn’t stop the rampage of words that spilled from his lips, the barely held back thoughts that had been bubbling within his ribs for months. “We sold Sugarhill and within a month you were flying to Portland to start over. And then you stopped talking to me. You came home for New Years, and I only heard about it because my mom dropped off cookies for your granddad. But by the time I’d run over there, you were already on a flight back.”

“I never meant to—”

“And I couldn’t stop thinking about how it was all because I kissed you,” Keith snarled, unable to stop the feral bite to his words or the pain that burned so heavily in his tone.

It was like a haunting nightmare. Something that followed him, that wrestled — untamed — in the back of his mind every moment he was with Shiro.

It was that last night on the Sugarhill house porch. It was grandiose, almost to the point of hideousness. But Keith had loved it all the same.

The air smelled like fresh paint and the flowers Allura had brought them in congratulations. Keith had cracked open a beer for him and Shiro. “To us,” he cheered, raising the glass to the night sky and enjoying the burn of alcohol down his throat.

Shiro smiled at him, and it felt like a gift, something to cherish, to hold dear.

Maybe it was because Keith was drunk and deliriously happy that he leaned forward. He whispered across Shiro’s lips and kissed his words back. It was a mere peck, a sloppy messy thing that Keith longed to strike from the record, but the sensations had seared themselves into his mind — a memory he’d been desperate for for years. The taste of beer on Shiro’s lips, the warm press of his skin, the uncertainty of their fumbling kiss.

He just wished that he could forget the way Shiro had pulled away with shock.

His familiar palm settled on Keith’s shoulder and pushed them apart, an unreadable expression on his face. “Yeah,” Shiro breathed, “celebrations are in order.”

After that, things were never quite the same between them. But in the time it took Sugarhill to sell and for Shiro to leave, Keith hadn’t been able to speak to Shiro about the fleeting kiss, about his feelings, about anything really.

And now, Shiro sat beside him with an expression of utter vulnerability and heartbreak.

Keith couldn’t bear to watch as everything he hadn’t been able to say back then came tumbling out, hidden behind their familiar camaraderie these past two months. “I already knew you didn’t like me like that, but I hoped that maybe—” Keith’s voice broke, vocal cords squeezing tight enough to the point of pain. His next inhale was shallow, on the verge of hyperventilation. “I just thought that even if you didn’t like me, that maybe we could still be friends.”

“Keith.” Shiro reached out like he was trying to comfort or to explain.

But it had been far too long, years too long, for an explanation. Instead, all Keith had to bolster himself was rage and indignation. “You left me.”

The words seem to punch the air out of Shiro’s lungs.

Keith turned his gaze to Shiro’s, pinned by those steel-gray eyes, set wide and watery as they regarded him. He could feel the hysterics painting his own expression, furrowing his brow and pulling his lips into a scowl of a frown. It was all he could do to stop the tears that burned at the back of his throat.

“I thought it was for the best,” Shiro began, only for Keith to scoff a dark laugh and cut him off. But Shiro continued, holding Keith’s gaze between the bars of the railings as he stepped down the stairs and stood before Keith — plain and devastatingly handsome in the moonlight. “Keith —” 

“You thought leaving was for the best?! You’re _everything_ to me, Shiro. And in a month, I lost Sugarhill, you, and myself.” Keith could tell that he was on the verge of crying, whether it be from exhaustion or the walls around his fragile heart finally crumbling.

He’d worked so hard these past three years to be something — anything — without Shiro by his side. And finally, when he was on the verge of achieving his dream, Shiro stumbled back into town. It only took one of those patented smiles for all of Keith’s resolve to crumble.

Silence settled between them again, the kind that strained and pulled and longed to be filled. But Keith was too busy keeping the tears from his gaze and the burning tightness from his throat. Too busy fighting off the urge to march down the pathway and jump on the back of his motorcycle — ready to try Shiro’s technique of running to find a new purpose with the hope of forgetting the past.

But Keith knew that no matter where he traveled, he couldn’t forget Shiro.

Shiro’s tentative words enveloped the tense quiet between them, “I — I wasn’t sure what the kiss meant.”

“Then why didn’t you just ask?” Keith’s words were snarled, a thing barely above feral. His hands curled to fists at his sides.

“I was afraid of the answer.” And it was stunning how easily the admission rolled off Shiro’s tongue. Maybe it was because he wasn’t meeting Keith’s gaze, even though they stood face to face, or the gentle companionship they had rekindled between them. “Afraid of how it would change our relationship when I realized that you…” Shiro let the sentence die off in his throat.

His next words sizzled in his throat when he gritted out, “We lost ourselves anyway.”

Growing up, the longest they had been apart was the month when Shiro went to visit Japan with his grandfather. Otherwise, they’d see each other almost every day, talk and get into mischief. Even when Shiro went to college, Keith practically lived in his dorm room — living vicariously through his best friend.

But after the kiss, Shiro went to Portland — and it was like it was the other edge of the universe. 

The distance seemed insurmountable.

And yet, here they were: beside each other in front of another house they worked on together. A house that was going on the market tomorrow.

“You were the one who stopped calling,” Shiro mumbled, eyes downcast and jaw tight.

“What?” Keith couldn’t keep the snarl from his voice.

Shiro’s gaze snapped up and met Keith’s — tempered steel and molten mercury. “You were the one who stopped calling me, Keith. All of _this_ ,” he motions between them with the sharp flick of his wrist, “isn’t just because of me. Don’t act like you weren’t the one who ignored my calls first.”

“I —” Keith swallowed around the tightness in his throat, the nausea that bubbled up and threatened to spill over. “I just knew that I wasn’t wanted anymore.”

The flash of hurt across Shiro’s features felt like a physical punch to Keith’s stomach. “Did I really make you feel like that?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Keith crossed his arms and ground his teeth. “It’s easier to leave first than to be left behind. I knew that I’d ruined everything between us with that kiss and Sugarhill, and I just couldn’t —” he hated how his voice cracked around the words, turned small and weak and frail, “— I couldn’t just stand by and watch you leave. I _couldn’t_.”

“Keith,” Shiro breathed, but it seemed to be a sentence in itself rather than the start of something.

Keith pushed to his feet, standing on the second stair, and met Shiro’s gaze on his level. He pushed a finger into Shiro’s chest with bruising force. “But you were the one that left first.”

Shiro’s hand, which had been bridging the distance between them, stopped in mid-air. “I —”

“And I was left to haunt the streets of this town like a ghost or some mourning widow.” Keith’s laugh caught on a sob, wrenching through his chest with enough force that his next words were reed thin, “While you were off enjoying everything Portland had to offer.” Derision dripped from his tone as his hand flailed out as if Adam was still standing between them.

“Well, what was I supposed to do, Keith?” Shiro’s teeth were set on edge, lips curling back and prosthetic digging into his hair — the silver of the metal and his hair glinted in the moonlight.

“Fight for me,” Keith curled his fist into the front of Shiro’s shirt. 

Shiro’s expression was pained, furrowed brow and twisted lips. “How was I supposed to do that when —”

“You literally could’ve done anything!” Keith screamed, shaking his clenched fist watching as Shiro swayed with the force. “I was already yours, Shiro! _I’ve loved you since I learned what love was!_ ”

It took a moment for Keith to even realize what was happening. Like a jolt of electricity, like fireworks and a blazing star streaking across the sky.

Shiro’s lips were pressed against his — warm and soft and tasting like beer. It was everything Keith hated to remember from Sugarhill. But this time, Shiro was winding his hands around Keith’s hips, pulling him down the stairs until they were pressed chest to chest.

Keith could barely keep track of the sweet pull of the kiss while attempting to focus on the burning touch of his hands or the way his own palms traveled up Shiro’s chest and wound into the short strands of hair at the nape of his neck.

He was utterly overwhelmed.

He was claimed by the sea, oh so pleased to be drowning. A comet burning up in the atmosphere but lucky to be blazing so close to a breathtaking planet.

Shiro led the kiss, pulling tight on Keith’s hips — and when a surprised gasped escaped him, Shiro gently asked for entrance.

But Keith pulled back, allowing himself to take his first breath of air.

He felt like he was drowning in Shiro’s arms, ready to burn in the atmosphere with no hope of touching the ground. If Shiro wasn’t serious, Keith knew that he would fizzle to nothing — like sea foam at dawn.

Keith exhaled and opened his eyes. He regarded Shiro’s expression: the pain still hadn’t left, buried in the furrow of his brow, but there was a gentleness to the curve of his lips and the set of his jaw.

With delicate fingers, Keith traced the burning heat that lingered after the kiss like he couldn’t be sure it had happened.

“Shiro —” 

“I think I’ve loved you since you punched James Griffin on the playground. Since you defended me in front of the entire elementary school and said that anyone who messed with me, messed with you. And then you spit out a mouthful of blood.” Shiro turned his gaze to Keith’s, mirthful and glinting with so much affection that the air rushed from Keith’s lungs. He tugged Keith a little closer and whispered, “Back then, I didn’t even really know what kissing was, but I knew that I loved you.”

Keith hated how his chin trembled, how his fingers tightened instinctively against Shiro’s neck. He couldn’t fight the urge to tether Shiro to his side, to make sure that his love wouldn’t want to run again.

“Then why did you leave?” Keith whispered.

“I think I spent so long convincing myself that I didn’t love you, so that I could keep our friendship the same, that I almost started to believe it. I just thought all best friends wanted to sleep next to each other and hold each other so close that breathing is almost impossible.” Shiro tucked his chin, a sheepish smile growing on his lips. “And after the kiss — I thought that maybe you were just celebrating putting Sugarhill on the market or something. It broke my heart, but — but I couldn’t ask, not when I thought I already knew your answer.”

“Shiro —” 

“But when I was with Adam, I — I knew that it couldn’t hold a candle to everything you were to me.”

Keith’s breath caught in his chest, a half-uttered gasp.

Shiro tilted his head to the side and smiled at Keith, that boyish grin that won everyone over. With gentle fingers, he fiddled with the hem of Keith’s shirt, trailing a burning line across his hip.

“Why didn’t you come back earlier? Why didn’t you explain?” Keith wouldn’t admit that he would’ve taken Shiro back in a heartbeat, a millisecond, a fragment of a breath. Even now, after spending three years without Shiro by his side, he couldn’t fight off his affections for long.

His chest already felt like it was prying itself open one rib at a time. He couldn’t imagine spilling anymore of his guts on purpose.

Shiro’s fingers tightened their grip on Keith’s waist as the words croaked from the back of his throat, “Wasn’t it too late?”

“I already told you, Shiro. You’re everything to me.” Keith pressed himself on his tip toes and whispered, “It’s never too late.”

Keith surged forward and closed the distance between them.

The kiss was just as searing as the first — threatening to set Keith’s very molecules on fire.

It was a tumble of limbs as Keith clawed at Shiro’s threadbare t-shirt, stretched thin across his chest. Keith’s lips burned with each heated kiss as his lungs begged for air, but he would rather suffocate than break from Shiro right now.

Shiro’s hands wrapped around his waist, hoisting him upward and placing him on the wall dividing the two sides of the porch. Keith wrapped his legs around Shiro’s hips and drew him in so that they were chest to chest.

Shiro pulled back just enough so that they could catch their breath. His forehead was pressed against Keith’s, and even as he spoke, Keith could feel him leaning closer. “Keith, is this okay? This isn’t too fast?”

“I’ve waited so long for this, Shiro.” Keith wound his arms around Shiro’s neck and closed the distance between them. His next words were whispered against Shiro’s lips, “I want everything you can give me.”

With a groan, Shiro pressed a kiss to Keith’s lips and deepened it without hesitation.

All of Keith’s nerves ignited at the touch of Shiro’s tongue, the press of his hands against his waist — squeezing and dipping beneath his shirt to drag along the planes of his stomach and back. It was as if Shiro was trying to memorize every inch of him.

And Keith didn’t want to hide from Shiro’s touch, didn’t want to shy away from the hard press of his dick against Shiro’s. Through the tightness of their pants, he could feel the shape of Shiro, the warmth and the thickness.

Keith moaned into the kiss as Shiro’s fingers brushed over his nipple. Without reservation, Keith buried one hand into the short locks of white hair at the nape of Shiro’s neck. Pulling Shiro’s head back, Keith allowed himself to trace his lips along the column of his neck — to taste his pulse and the saltiness of sweat from a good day’s work.

“Keith,” Shiro groaned as Keith’s teeth bit into the tender skin below his jaw. The tone held a warning, but it only made Keith smile into the next bite, grinding down against Shiro.

With a growl of his name, Shiro hefted Keith off the dividing wall and through the door to his side of the duplex.

Wrapping his arms more fully around Shiro’s neck, Keith allowed himself to relish in the feel of Shiro around him. The prosthesis was on his ass, biting into the swell of flesh and making Keith roll his hips more fluidly against Shiro’s. The other hand was feeling against the wall for the lights as they stumbled up the stairs and into the newly furnished bedroom.

Keith giggled as Shiro set him down on the edge of the bed.

But the giggling promptly stopped as Shiro stepped out of the circle of Keith’s limbs. He reached out, but the sight of Shiro grabbing at the back of his shirt and ripping it off without preamble, stopped any complaints. Instead, Keith allowed himself to memorize every detail.

Beneath the jut of his collar bones were pecs that flexed with each subtle movement. Adorning them were dusky nipples, peaked and reddening. Abs of steel or carved from marble were just below those. And Keith wanted to drag his hands along all of Shiro, to allow himself the time to commit it all to memory.

“Shiro,” Keith breathed, hands stalling in the air.

“Keith, I don’t know —”

Keith hushed him and stood up from the bed. Taking a couple steps forward, Keith placed his hands gently on Shiro’s pecs. His words fumbled as he enjoyed the heat and softness of Shiro’s skin. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything.”

“I want to.” The words were quiet, whispered in the closing distance between them.

“But?” Keith prompted, lips ghosting over Shiro’s in a mockery of a kiss.

Shiro pulled himself back enough to exhale. His prosthesis settled on Keith’s hip, a firm and familiar weight. “But I don’t want to mess this up. I mean with Sugarhill, I just —”

“This time you won’t leave. You’re not running away from me again, right Takashi?”

Shiro’s eyes jolted up to meet Keith’s, like the clash of thunder and lightning. There was a determination, a tempered steel that sent a shiver down the length of Keith’s spine.

When Shiro spoke, it was in that same quiet tone but crafted with a hardened edge, “No. Never again.”

Keith rose to his tiptoes and breathed across Shiro’s lips, “Good,” before kissing him.

Shiro’s arms wound around Keith’s waist, and already it felt natural, like that was exactly where they belonged.

『•••✎•••』

#  Garrison Publishing 

### The Dueling Duplex 

  
By Adam West  
Copy Editor  


  
  


_Two friendly rivals purchase opposite sides of a duplex. Takashi Shirogane (right) and Keith Kogane (left) were long regarded childhood friends who had taken their first remodeling job three years prior. Within the first day of their construction, Shirogane and Kogane had sparked a competition: whoever secures the highest deal when it comes time to sell was the winner._

 _However, both of them had to finish their flips within a mere 8 weeks._

 _Shirogane is currently taking over his grandfather’s shop, “Shirogane Interior Design,” that is operating just outside of town. Kogane is the son of the founders of the local carpentry named “Marmora Captentry” and is branching out in his own business of “Kogane Designs.”_

 _Shirogane is more heavily accomplished in the Interior Design field, having redesigned a celebrity chef’s kitchen in the spring of this past year. His style boasts an industrial flair with high ceilings and exposed piping. He favors neutral colors like black, white, and gentle earth tones._

 _Kogane is a new designer with his only experience being the remodel he completed with Shirogane three years prior. His style consists of a rustic charm with a hint of French country. With white as a base palette for his homes, Kogane loves to embellish with reclaimed wood and beautiful furnishings from his family’s store._

 _It is an astounding feat to have accomplished such beautiful flips within only two months. Both Shirogane and Kogane have truly proven their mettle as designers and house flippers._

 _Pictured below are images of the duplex’s total makeover. Before and after shows the true neglect and outdated style of the house and the true love and dedication that Kogane and Shirogane have put into their design._

 _As you can see from the pictures, there was no true winner as both flips are beautiful in their own unique style. However, there was a clear winner in the terms of their competition._  


“What are you reading?” Shiro asked from across the room, pushing a fresh cup of coffee across the kitchen table.

Keith placed his phone down and inhaled the strong scent of coffee. Leaning back in his chair, Keith raised the mug to his lips and took a tentative sip. “Adam’s article about us.”

“Oh?” Shiro’s eyebrows raised as he crossed over the table and perched himself on the edge beside Keith. There was a playful smirk on his face, barely hidden by his fresh stubble and the inconspicuous readjustment of his glasses. “I thought you didn’t read gossip rags like the Garrison.”

“Maybe I’m just making sure they credited my favorite interior designer correctly.” Keith set his coffee down on the table and crossed his arms.

Shiro laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners and looking more carefree than Keith had ever seen him. The darkness beneath his eyes had faded in the weeks since they sold both sides of the duplex.

But the ending of their little rivalry came with better prize than they could’ve hoped for.

Being with Shiro was like euphoria injected directly into Keith’s bloodstream. With every kiss and delicate touch and whispered “I love you,” he felt more and more intoxicated by Shiro. And Keith had never been more grateful for Sugarhill, for Adam and the Garrison, and for fate.

“Did they mention who won?” Shiro asked with a mischievous glint to his eyes.

Keith huffed a laugh and leaned forward in his seat, so close to Shiro that he could feel the lingering heat of the shower wafting from his skin. He longed to slide his hands up Shiro’s thighs, undo his robe, and relish in their newly purchased to-flip house. “I hadn’t gotten there yet, but it’s not like it matters anyway.”

“Oh?”

“Because I’ve already got my prize,” Keith said before tugging on the rope of Shiro’s robe and pulling him in for a kiss. It tasted like coffee and casual mornings, and Keith wouldn’t have it any other way.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> I also wanted to give a quick shout out to [this skin tutorial](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21974437)!
> 
> If you feel like it, you can follow me on [tumblr](https://communikateee.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/communikateeee)! Happy Sheithmark to all, and to all a goodnight! °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°


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